Shadowed Passions
by Merrybeans
Summary: Nominated for 2006 Circle Of Heroes Awards! The war with Scanra is still raging, but Roald has his own battles to fight as he struggles to deal with feelings of uselessness, and being married…
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Duty has always been at the forefront of his mind, and he knows it will always rule his life. He has done as duty asked and married his foreign bride, for the good of his realm. But his realm is still at war, and he cannot sit at home, wooing and love-making, while his people die in battle. With his mind utterly focused on a border miles away, his marriage becomes neglected, his friendships become time-consuming, his health becomes unimportant; to the end that everything he once felt intensely about is overshadowed by the passion to do right by duty.

_A/N: I'm throwing all caution to the wind and posting this first chapter already. Bear with me; I'm afraid this chapter is a little like "Roald did this, then he does that"- enough already! It does get more interesting, but this first chapter has to be- like all first chapters- the introduction. So, in short, please stick around. _

_A few points:_

_This is set in the December following _Lady Knight_, based at Corus._

_Chapters will be about the length of this chapter (around the 2,500 word mark, not precise). I'm not sure how many chapters there will be- at a rough guess I'd say 8-12, depending on what point I decide to end this on._

_The rating may be liable to change later, as the story progresses. _

_I have taken liberties with the younger Conté children, as we know so little about them, giving them rough ages, personalities and lives as I feel fit._

_Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, as always. If you want to contact me, feel free._

_I'd also like to take this moment to say that (1) Yes, I have read Tammy's books, before I get any more reviews asking me and (2) Although I've been in a serious long-term relationship, I have not been married (I say this just to clarify, because the story is largely about Roald and Shinko's marriage). _

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognise as Tamora Pierce's.

Dedication: To those I know that fear change, that fear the vulnerability they feel when their structured lives are shaken from their rigid routines. To those that cannot express themselves.

**Shadowed Passions.**

**Chapter One. **

Roald sighed and rubbed a hand over his face as he turned the corner. Feeling the bristles on his chin, he grimaced: it had been a long day. His fingers moved round to the back of his neck, working at the knot in the muscles there as he walked; he tried to ignore that dull throbbing in his temples that had refused to leave him alone the last few days.

With his mind so distracted, the scroll he was carrying slipped out of his hand and fell, whispering, to the wooden floor. He stopped and bent to pick it up.

Without the rhythmic padding of his boots, the corridor fell eerily silent: the palace was asleep. Not even a flicker of candle flame showed beneath the nearby doors. It was a grim realisation of the late hour.

Stifling another exhausted sigh, Roald continued on his way, passing soon into the Royal wing of the palace. He took the left fork where the corridor split and paused before his door, looking further down the passageway.

There was, of course, no light from under Kalasin's door, and he refused to let his thoughts drift to the Empress at this time of day. It was far too late for him to begin missing his sister again.

There was no light, either, from his brothers' rooms. Liam was with his knight master somewhere on the border, Roald wasn't sure where exactly any more. The Grand Progress had been underway when Liam had first passed his page examinations and become a squire, so he hadn't been taken by a knight until six months ago, when further recruits were taken to the war.

Jasson- well, Roald wasn't entirely sure _where_ Jasson was. Roald frowned at the thought of his youngest brother. The boy had dropped out of his page training after barely two years, to everyone's shock. The twelve year old had shrugged imperiously and stated that it "simply wasn't for him". He had spent the time since then doing as he pleased, when he pleased, much to Roald's displeasure. Roald knew their Mother often tried to talk sense into the boy, to no success. The King was usually too busy to do anything but growl his disapproval.

Roald guessed Jasson was either fast asleep or off on one of his "adventures", escapades which were not entirely sensible when the realm was at war.

To Roald's surprise, there _was_ light from under Lianne's door, a dull orange glow that told him she must have the fire and a few candles lit. He frowned, and turned towards her room – then changed his mind. Lianne was sixteen now; she could handle herself. Chances were she didn't want to be disturbed at this hour anyway.

He quietly eased his chamber door open and, with it once again closed, pressed his back to the wood while he waited for his eyes to adjust. It was pitch black in here, but pleasantly warm, and once he could vaguely make out the denser shadows of furniture, he began to pick his way through the room. Dropping the scroll on a nearby cabinet, he opened the door that led into the bedroom he shared with his wife.

Again, he paused just inside the doorway, this time listening intently. Less than a minute had passed before he caught the sound of Princess Shinkokami's breathing, calm and steady as she slept.

His mind put at ease that his wife was present and well, Roald moved as quietly as he could around the room, depositing his boots by the door and his clothes on a chair. One lonely candle was alight on the windowsill near the bed. Roald briefly smiled upon seeing it, guessing that Shinkokami had left it for his return.

His clothes chest creaked slightly as he pushed it open and he winced, waiting, and hoping it hadn't disturbed his wife. There was no change in her breathing and he quickly pulled his night clothes out and shut the chest. _Another job to see to_, he thought, as the chest hinges complained again.

He pulled the clothes on quickly, shivering slightly while he stood on the cold floor. It was rapidly approaching midwinter and the weather was becoming harsher with every morning's frost.

Silently he slipped between the covers on his side of the large bed. Lying on his back, he folded his hands across his torso. It was bliss just to get off his aching feet, and he suddenly wished Kally wasn't all those miles away in Carthak. He would really appreciate one of her gentle massages right now, her cool Gift-laced fingertips expertly removing the throbbing from his back, feet and neck. _Lucky Kaddar_, Roald thought with grim good humour.

His thoughts made him look to his left, where his own wife lay unaware of his presence. She hadn't so much as shifted when his body weight had caused the bed to dip.

She was lying with the curve of her back towards him and her head resting on one forearm. Her black hair- only just visible in the light- was a sleek shadow surrounding her face and falling across the crisp white pillow. He felt a little longing to reach out and stroke that perfectly soft hair, but he stayed perfectly still.

After having watched Shinkokami sleep peacefully for a full minute, Roald sighed, leant up and blew the solitary candle out. He settled back down again, his solid back facing his wife.

---

Crown Prince Roald was awake with the sun, his body used enough to the early rising to override his tiredness. Shifting into a sitting position, he glanced at Shinkokami. She was, as usual, still fast asleep.

Sighing, Roald leant over and, careful not to wake her, brushed her hair back off her face. Then he shook himself free of the clinging bed sheets and left the bed chamber.

A bath was already waiting for him in his private dressing salon, steam rising from the water. Shedding the nightgown, he sunk gratefully into the warmth, thinking again how cold the icy mornings were.

He knew, as he did everyday, that he could not afford to waste time lazing like a court lady: if he wanted to get everything done, he had to start early. He scrubbed himself clean quickly, towelled himself dry and slipped into his undergarments.

His manservant had propped his shaving mirror next to a bowl of warm water. Roald wasn't keen on his beard; he privately felt he looked too much like his father for his own comfort when he didn't shave.

Efficiently his skilled hands skimmed the blade over his chin, cheeks, and neck, removing the dark bristles that had grown since yesterday. Skilled his hands may be (they had had many years of practice), but they were also tired and had not the same accuracy they usually possessed.

He gasped- considerably more in surprise than in pain- when he nicked his skin. As he peered in the mirror at the side of his neck, he could see the blood swell up already, and he pressed a slightly trembling finger to the cut to confirm its reality. His fingertips came away red and stained.

Shaking his head, Roald searched his dressing table until he found small squares of cotton for blotting. His manservant no longer laid them out in the morning because Roald so infrequently erred.

Roald held a folded cloth to his neck until the bleeding had stopped, watching the sun climb the sky through the small window. He was a patient man, but he knew this was wasting precious seconds of his morning.

Once the bleeding had stopped, he completed his shave. Placing the razor back on the work top, he peered again into the mirror to check he had not missed any area. The dark rings beneath his eyes struck him and he rubbed a finger along one. The skin was smooth, but it was an inescapable herald of his lack of sleep.

He turned away, deciding to ignore it. No-one would comment on the bags beneath the Crown Prince's eyes.

Quickly he rubbed sandalwood-smelling ointment into his face, neck and hands. It took him no time at all to put on the clothes waiting and, after a quick comb of his short hair, he sat down. He took a few moments to tie his boots so that they were comfortable; his feet always ached so much in the evenings nowadays.

He stood before the full length mirror for one quick look before he left. Impeccable, as ever. There was nothing particularly stunning about the grey and black clothes he wore, but the fact that every detail was perfectly set was what mattered to Roald.

He checked on his wife as he passed back through the bedroom. She was still asleep, although her position had changed now. He stood, looking down on her for a silent moment, hesitating. Fluidly, rapidly, he bent down, touched the barest kiss to her cheek and left his chambers.

The servants had started on their day's duties as Roald walked briskly through the palace. Shutters were thrown open to let the sun into the corridors and halls. Maids bustled around with chamber pots and jugs of steaming water and armfuls of fresh linen. They all dodged his highness with expert ease and it didn't take Roald long to reach the offices.

This was where his Uncle Gary worked, this was the realm _he_ ruled over and that long, heavy-looking desk beyond the open door was his throne. The odd clerk or two were beginning to drift in and out, but most would not arrive until the bell tolled the official start of the day.

Roald went through to a much smaller room. Leaving the door open, he could see into the main office and just about see into Gareth of Naxen's private room on the other side.

The Prince glanced at the neat stack of documents on the desk.

'Right where I left you,' he murmured, and sat down, pulling the papers towards him.

They were papers on trivial, everyday issues that- regardless of their triviality- still had to be dealt with by someone. Someone official had to sign things, somebody had to keep an unbiased eye on the clerks just in case one of them tried anything sneaky. The work involved mainly small things that could be very boring, longwinded and time-consuming and Roald had taken it upon his head to sort them out himself.

The Prince ran an eye over the first scroll and stifled a yawn, fighting to swallow it. Here was a typical document of what he spent his days gazing over at the moment. On the left hand side was a list of all the resources the kitchens had used in the last week and on the right was the corresponding tally of expenditure.

He scanned down the list, checking everything seemed reasonable. Seeing the meat used over one week alone, he shook his head; he still marvelled at the sheer quantity of food the palace got through. For that particular reason the palace had always kept their own livestock- Roald didn't want to imagine the bills if they had to buy all their meat from external sources.

Everything seemed in order so Roald signed the bottom of the parchment and placed it to his right. He dutifully took the next document from the pile on his left: the fortnightly account from the vast network of stables supporting the palace. Roald refused to think negative thoughts and continued with his work.

The Prince was reading the grim request from an outwards fief to have the identified body of their son delivered to them when the great bell tolled and the rest of the workers began to spill into their offices. There were frequent such requests to have bodies returned for proper burial from the Scanran War, particularly if the man in question was a knight. What the families didn't always realise was that there might not _be_ a body to return.

Gareth of Naxen entered the main office, a stack of fresh scrolls in his arms. Turning to talk to Cenet, his "second in command", he noticed the Prince hard at work in his separate little room. Gary clamped his mouth tight shut and frowned.

'What is _he_ doing here again?'

'Who, sir?' asked Cenet, but was ignored as Gareth walked away. Shifting his armloads, he knocked mockingly on Roald's open door.

'Don't lecture me, Uncle Gary,' was Roald's prompt reply. He didn't look up. 'We both have work to get on with.'

'Your highness, you-'

'Trying to persuade me won't work either, Uncle.'

Gary sighed; this was something they argued about every morning. 'Is that so?' At Roald's nod, Gary pursed his lips together- hesitated- then beckoned a young boy to his side. 'Have some food delivered to his Highness immediately.'

The boy stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed until Gareth elaborated, speaking slowly and clearly as if the boy had lost his wits. 'Ask the kitchen staff to bring a tray of food up for the Prince- some rolls, cheese, fruit- I don't believe his Highness has broken his fast yet.' With a hasty nod, the boy scurried off, and Gareth returned to his nephew.

'You really don't have to do this, Roald. There are clerks to do what you are doing.'

'Someone should help you keep an eye on things.'

'You don't need to check over all the accounts. There are the head clerks to do that- and you know as well as I do that they are magically bound to be honest about the palace's money.'

'We need to save as many coppers as we can, Uncle, for this war. We don't want it to suck us completely dry because we've been a little too lenient with our feasting and a little too excessive with our luxuries.'

Gary sighed. 'You're unshakeable, lad, I'll give you that.' He left the Prince to start his own work and a few minutes later, a maid entered the small room.

She placed her tray down on a side bench and came to his main desk, where she shifted some papers until there was space enough for his breakfast.

Ordering breakfast was something Gary had recently introduced to the morning's ritual, something Roald was glad of. It saved him interrupting his work to go elsewhere to eat, yet prevented him from going hungry.

Roald glanced up and saw the same pretty thing that greeted him every morning. She was delicate, in a way quite different from his porcelain-looking wife. Her skin was healthily tanned, her face heart-shaped, her rather large eyes round and blue-grey. Her hair was long and ruddy brown in colour and today, Roald noticed, she wore some of it down around her shoulders and the rest in a tight bun low on the back of her head. Her ears, slightly pointed at the top, peeked through the strands of hair that hung loose. The plain blue and white uniform of the palace servants did not particularly flatter her dainty, petite figure.

Noticing the Prince was looking at her, she smiled bashfully and lowered her gaze to her hands. She transferred his breakfast from the tray to the corner of his desk. A little terracotta pot of honey followed a bowl of warm porridge. A plate held freshly baked rolls, slices of ham and chunks of mellow cheese. Finally, a small bowl held a selection of fruit and was accompanied by a large jug of cool fruit juice.

Roald smiled at the spread. 'Were you waiting for the call?' The maid coloured prettily at the direct attention.

'Yes, your Highness, we are glad to help you.'

'Do you think you could bring the same up slightly earlier tomorrow, without waiting for a summons, please?'

The young woman (she must be about nineteen, Roald had often thought) bobbed a curtsey. 'As you wish, your Highness.'

'Thank you.' Roald turned his attention to the honey and the delicate little maid quietly disappeared again.

---


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two.**

Roald looked up at the knock on the door to see Cenet, the head clerk, standing there.

'Do you have that list of the Midwinter festivities, your Highness? Sir Gareth is asking for it.'

'Oh right, yes, it's here,' replied Roald, 'hang on.' He put his quill down and began to riffle through the papers on his desk.

'That's odd…' he murmured when his search was fruitless. He rose, crossing to the sideboard where three other stacks of papers sat. 'I'm sure it wouldn't be in these, but I'll check anyway.' Quickly he thumbed through the bundle, to no luck. He stood, arms akimbo, frowning.

'Now what did I do with that?'

'If I may, your Highness…?'

Roald glanced at Cenet. The man was indicating the original pile on the Prince's desk. Roald waved a hand.

'Yes, yes, feel free.'

While the clerk went through the papers again, Roald tried to remember what he'd done with that list. One of the scribes had brought it to him yesterday afternoon, and Roald had promised to look over it before today.

'Ah! I remember!' he exclaimed suddenly. 'I left it in my rooms this morning.' He had not got a chance to read the list yesterday and so had taken it with him to read in bed. But he had been too tired and had completely forgotten about it.

Cenet smiled. 'Very well, Sir. Shall I have a man collect it?'

'No, no- I'll go. I need to stretch my legs. I will bring it to Gareth myself.'

'As you wish, your Highness.' Cenet bowed and Roald went off in search of the scroll.

As he strolled through the palace, the courtiers he passed acknowledged him pleasantly; the ladies curtsying and offering coy glances through lashes, the men bowing or nodding, touching a hand to their hats if they wore them. Roald nodded back to all, murmuring "hello" and "good morning" where appropriate. He ignored the looks from the women; they should have learnt by now that Liam was the flirtatious Conté son.

Unexpectedly, one of the women squealed, making Roald jump. He pivoted. A young boy ran between the courtiers, skilfully dodging the women's skirts and the men's canes. A dog raced beside him, barking occasionally. A few other children trailed behind, in fits of giggles.

Roald stifled a sigh and waited for the boy to catch up. When he came close, he made to dodge around Roald's right. Roald waited and lunged at the last moment, grabbing the boy's shoulder.

Roald held his prize as a fistful of struggling tunic while the dog backed away, whining. He waited for the boy to calm down and when he didn't, Roald spoke, his voice firm and leaving no room for disagreement.

'Enough, Jasson.'

The thirteen year old glared up at his brother. 'You're such a bloody spoilsport, Roald.'

Roald tightened his grip and lowered his voice. 'There are ladies around, Jasson. That language is _not_ acceptable.'

Jasson's dog- a low-bodied, floppy-eared creature- came uncertainly forward, growling a little at Roald's tone. Roald didn't even spare the dog a glance.

'Hush now, Brandy.'

'Leave him out of this,' growled Jasson roughly, shaking out of Roald's hold. Brandy scooted to Jasson's shins, wagging his tail and looking hopefully at his young master.

Roald glanced around, aware of the courtiers' curious looks. Jasson's young friends waited some yards away. 'Jasson, this is not tolerable behaviour. You should be acting more like a young man- a young _Prince_- of your age-'

'You're not my _father_!' Jasson cried, fixing Roald with angry eyes. When Roald made no immediate comment, the boy turned on his heel and stalked back the way he had come. His posse collected around him, Brandy in their midst.

Roald watched them go, sighing. That boy was going to bring trouble, of that he was sure. Once he had convinced some women that everything was fine, he went on his way, reaching his rooms without any more trouble.

He looked around the resting area, filled with comfy seats, bookcases and his and Shinko's own personal belongings. He remembered putting the scroll on the cabinet by the door that lead to his bedroom last night. To his surprise, the cabinet top was clearly devoid of any such scroll.

Roald frowned. Now what had happened to that? He was _sure_ he had put it here… He scratched his head and gazed around. The room was relatively neat and there was no elusive scroll in sight.

Opposite him was a long, waist-high table with a number of parchments and books and he wondered if someone- Shinkokami, or the servants- had unrolled his list and placed it with these others. He checked; no, the papers were all personal letters and notes, not work based.

Roald sat down, thoroughly confused. What _had_ he done with it? If he hadn't been so tired last night, no doubt he'd remember now.

_No_, he told himself, _if you hadn't been so tired you would have read the list and taken it with you to Uncle Gary this morning, ready to present him with your opinions._

He sighed. It wasn't like the clerks couldn't put another list together; chances were, they had rough versions of the list anyway. But that wasn't the point. He was the Crown Prince- he couldn't go about misplacing important documents when people relied on him.

He looked at that broad cabinet again. If he was a betting man he would have put serious money on the scroll being there. It was pretty obvious it _wasn't_ though; the polished wood was bare except for a lace centrepiece and a small vase of violets grown in the new Royal hot house by the plant mages at the University.

Perhaps… Roald stood, determination setting his jaw, and went to the cabinet. It stood on four little round feet and bowed outwards in the middle, its corners strengthened by metal coverings.

Roald went down on his knees and pressed his face to the floor, trying to see beneath the cabinet. It was dark underneath, with odd-shaped shadows.

There was a gap of nearly three inches between the furniture and the floor- just big enough to slip a hand in and bungle around. He touched numerous relics, but no scroll. Pulling his arm out, he grimaced: the cuff of his silver-grey shirt was covered in thick dust. He tried to brush it off, but it just seemed to stick.

An idea came to Roald and he rubbed the fingers of his right hand together until an egg-sized globe of blue light fluttered there. Now he pressed his cheek to the floor again, sending his Gift out to illuminate the shadowy corners. Like he had felt, there were a number of little treasures that would have to be retrieved later- coppers, boiled sweets, beads from a broken necklace, a scrap of paper- but no scroll.

Roald sighed and was just about to draw his Gift back in when something caught his eye. There- in the corner! He brightened the light.

'Ah, _there_ you are.' Smiling, Roald extinguished his light-globe.

The scroll had fallen down the back of the cabinet and was caught between one of the feet and the wall. Roald shifted his body so that his stomach and chest was pressed against the wall, and tried to reach behind the cabinet.

Grumbling, the Prince pulled his arm back out. The gap was too small; the chest would have to be moved. He braced himself, half kneeling, half crouching, using his chest and arms to lever the cabinet out of its position.

Roald gasped as one of the metal corners bit into his shoulder. 'That _hurt_!' he told the offensive piece of furniture.

Yanking again, he cringed as the forgotten vase on top rocked. He held his breath. There was a tinkling noise as the fragile glass shattered. Roald closed his eyes momentarily- trying to ignore the fact that that vase had been a wedding gift- and gave the cabinet a final shove.

He took a moment to stand and assess the damage. The vase _had_ broken, and the violets lay neglected across the top. One flower had fallen to the floor and Roald looked on it with shame. His gaze moved back to the glass splinters, and he realised with a sudden horror that the flower water had spilled over the white lace mat and stained it. He put a hand to his face. The lace had been a present from someone too (he couldn't remember who, although he seemed to think it was foreign).

Shaking his head, he returned to the troublesome scroll. He could reach it easily now but as he pulled it out, something else caught on the paper and dropped by his feet.

Roald scooped it up, slipping it over two fingers so that it rested in his palm. It was a delicate bracelet and at the sight of it, something in his memory jogged.

Intrigued, Roald moved to the couch as he inspected it, placing the scroll on the low table in front of him. Elegant knot patterns were worked in fine gold strands and were interspersed with tiny, perfectly shaped beads. He ran a thumb over a bead of amber, one of ruby, sunstone, tigereye, coral, garnet, citrine, diamond- and the rare gem sphalerite. All were reds, oranges, yellows- warm colours, wonderfully offset by the honey-coloured gold and the smaller, sparkling diamonds.

Memory flooded back. Roald had had this made for one of Shinkokami's first birthdays here in Tortall. It had cost him a lot- and he had used his own money, not the Crown's. He had spent many evenings with the craftsmen, helping design the bracelet that would fit his Yamani bride-to-be. He had wanted it to be special and unique, not just a show of wealth.

The jewels weren't only for decoration either: each gemstone held its own power, amplified in the design of the bracelet. The whole piece held a measure of protection and aid of healing to the wearer, something he had never actually told Shinko.

Shinko had been overjoyed by the beautiful piece of jewellery. In a rare act of impetuousness, she had thrown her arms around the surprised Roald and promised to wear it always. He had placed his hands on her hips to steady her, kissed her cheek, and said that he was glad she liked his gift.

Now he brushed the remains of a cobweb from the gold. What was it doing beneath a cabinet? Hurt flooded his chest, and he closed his fist around the delicate gift. Shinkokami obviously hadn't liked it as much as she claimed.

As he stood, Roald shoved the bracelet into his pocket. He picked up the list and started back to Gary's office, reading it as he went.

--

Afternoon strolled lazily around, as it was wont to do, and Roald shuffled his papers, straightened his tunic, and left the office. At this time of day he usually went to visit his Mother, making an appearance, paying his respects, and taking a break from his work.

He had taken Gareth the list of possible Midwinter festivities, giving his opinions. He supported most of what was there: they didn't want to spend too much money on celebrations while they were hard at war, but they needed to give their people hope and strength and faith.

Queen Thayet spent the mid-afternoon with her court of ladies, after a full morning often involved in the war councils. Come afternoon, she would sit or walk or ride, and talk with all of them; her Ladies closest to her and all other female courtiers fanning out around them. Thayet had to keep her court; it was not enough that she merely show in evening entertainments.

Roald liked to visit his mother. He loved her dearly, and she enjoyed his brief company. Sometimes other young men would be present, seducing their sweethearts, or paying their respects to the Queen.

Roald strolled down to his mother's rooms where he was presented officially, and enthusiastically welcomed. His mother waved him over to her side. Today, it appeared, the female court was entertained in delicate embroidery and Shinkokami, sitting on Thayet's right side, seemed to be enjoying herself.

Roald's glance settled on his wife. This was often the first time he saw her every day. If he didn't come to visit his mother, or if Shinkokami wasn't here, they might not meet until dinner in the evening.

Roald nodded to his wife and turned his gaze back to Thayet, approaching her as she beckoned him again. His mother, he knew, did have a softer side which appreciated her children, and pretty dresses, and the odd afternoon spent in such calm activity. Roald peered between his Mama's hands at the delicate work.

'Very good, Mother.' He found it odd that she could find peace in such precise and unenergetic work when their realm was at war.

Thayet smirked at her son. 'Nothing compared to Shinko's.' Thayet sighed as she gazed at her daughter-in-law's work. 'I've neglected my embroidery for other things- _not_ that I regret the Riders, and the schools, and such- and Shinko's needlework is so beautiful. She never fails to amaze me, even after however many years. Look at this, Roald.'

A piece of cloth, fancily patterned, was thrust towards him. Roald raised his eyebrows and murmured some appreciative comments, although he was really no expert. He knew Shinko found an inner calm while working on her intricate embroidery patterns; she really enjoyed it. He also knew his mother had always marvelled at the new Yamani techniques and loved to watch the Yamani ladies sewing, as much as she appreciated their skill with glaive and _shukusen_ and tall Yamani bow.

Inwardly, Roald grimaced. He should have left immediately he found out it was a sewing day. The women always got so ridiculous. Because their hands were occupied, it left them free to gabble about anything and everything that popped into their minds and the room was always full of twittering and laughter and nonsense. Sometimes Thayet's regal air even slipped a little too. Roald understood it was a moment of escapism for her.

Roald snuck a few more glances at his wife, made some more comments to his mother, and managed to escape the sewing room relatively soon. He returned to the offices, there was much work left for the day yet.

When he had been on the border, Roald had found it highly frustrating how he had been so carefully watched all the time. He quite often had felt there was no point of him being there, for all they let him do. It left him feeling restless and utterly useless.

Yet, at home, in the palace, miles from the border in Corus, he felt even worse. Now he wasn't even _nearby_ if he _was_ needed. After his wedding, he had been asked to stay in the capital over winter. The King had travelled up to the border, heavily protected, for a short time, returning before the passes blocked or the sea became too dangerous to travel on.

Roald had stayed in Corus- but he felt strangely traitorous. He was leaving his men, his people, his _friends_, to fight the battles while he sat on plush cushions in the palace, twiddling his thumbs. He wanted to be _there_, with them.

When the killing devices had stopped moving that day in summer, most Tortallans thought the war would end soon. Unfortunately, they had been wrong. Maggur continued to push, but without his magic machines he no longer held the advantage. His men were unskilled in wars and tactics, knowing only the instinctive spirit of raidings.

But they were fierce, and they were learning. The Tortallans could _hold_ them, but they couldn't _defeat_ them. The war was at a stalemate.

While the war continued, there was plenty of work for Jonathan, Thayet and their close advisors. They needed to keep the realm working; they needed to make sure the harvest came in, that they had enough weapons and supplies for those men doing the hard work on the border. They needed to keep the support of the courtiers, and the merchants, and the commoners. They spent _hours_ in war councils, communicating via mages with those in charge along the border.

Reports had to be made. Jonathan had to know the state of his realm, in all its aspects: the health of its land; the damage to the crops so far; the state of his peoples moral; how many commoners had been innocently caught between the warriors; how many warriors had fallen; how many horses they had lost; how many healers had over reached themselves; how many families in the gentry were no longer so supportive of him and his queen. Every little detail had to be covered and considered and analysed. He had to keep the kingdom running smoothly.

He had pulled the realm through the Immortals War; there was no doubt in Roald's mind that his father could do it again, supported by Thayet.

Above all the monarchs couldn't let anyone see how worried they might be. They had to stand tall and strong, certain in the Gods' approval so that their people had faith in them.

The problem with doing all this was that it opened a sure pathway for a _very_ stressful life.

Roald was of an age now where he was all too aware of what his parents went through, and how stressed they could be. He was also all too aware of how he would one day hold his father's position. He wanted to be as ready for that inevitable day as he could be, and he also felt a need to help his parents as much as he was able to; he had the ability, the skills and the power- why not use his time wisely?

So Roald took to helping with little things as often as he could. It wasn't long before he found Uncle Gary who was in charge of all the King's affairs, and from Gary Roald _really_ got started. It helped the Prince deal with his feelings of uselessness, it made him feel like he was contributing in some small way.

Day in, day out, Roald came and dealt with the trivial, every-day housekeeping issues, relieving his parents of that job. He knew that left his parents more time to deal with the crucial war problems and if he was helping them, he didn't mind working for hours on end.

Uncle Gary didn't quite understand, he knew that, especially when he started coming every day. But nothing his adoptive uncle could say would convince Roald to do otherwise. Roald never let it slip that it was a way he could keep himself occupied.

'Roald?'

The Prince looked up from the document concerning a new trade route. Uncle Gary stood in the door and, surprised, Roald glanced at the window. The light had faded; it was evening already.

'I'm coming, Uncle. Let me just…' Roald bent his head again, furiously scribbling. Standing up, he blew on the ink to dry it and set it aside. A glance across the room told him tomorrows work was ready and waiting. He grimaced; the workload never decreased however hard he pushed himself.

'You'd better go and smarten up, Highness.'

Roald glanced down at himself, Gary was right. His clothes had become crumpled from sitting down all day, his hands were ink-stained, and his skin felt clammy. He noticed that his uncle had changed already and was smartly dressed in brown and russet red.

'I'll tell your Father you're on your way,' replied Gary as they parted. The older man went on to the dining hall while Roald hurried back to his room.

--

* * *

_A/N: The next chapter really gets going with some solid Roald-Shinko interaction. It should be posted shortly._

_Just to verify__ Brandy (Jasson's dog) is my own creation._


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Just to make it clear this fic is set in December, a few months after their marriage at the end of the summer._

**Chapter Three.**

The meal had, as he expected, already started and eyes fell on him as he slipped into the room. He walked calmly, nodding and smiling at people he knew as he passed. His parents didn't eat stately every night but if the King and Queen were eating in the dining hall instead of their private rooms, most courtiers tried to be there at the same time.

The serving men had been waiting for him and, having seen him come in, they had a tray of food prepared by the time he reached them. Thanking them, Roald went to the head table where his family were seated.

It was a smaller family at the moment: Kalasin was in Carthak, and Liam was on the Scanran border with his knight-master. Jasson was absent, no doubt up to his tricks. Lianne was with them this evening, and she sat next to her mother, looking rather bored with no-one to talk to.

Roald slipped into place between his wife and his father. Jon was talking in hushed tones with Thayet and didn't notice his son arrive, but Shinkokami touched her serviette to the corners of her mouth and reached for Roald's glass.

'Good evening, Roald,' she said as she poured him spiced fruit juice, knowing he preferred that to wine at this time.

'Good evening. Thank you.' He took the drink from her and gulped it greedily: he hadn't realised how dry his mouth was. Scrutinising the food before him, he asked, 'Have you had a good day?'

'Yes, thank you, pleasant enough.' There was a lapse and Roald kept his eyes and attention on his much-welcomed meal.

'Where have you been, Roald?' she asked finally.

'I have been busy, working. There are many reports to read, many requests to reply to,' his voice was quiet. 'Ask Sir Gareth, I've been with him most of the day.'

'I don't disbelieve you, Roald. But – _surely_ those are duties for your scribes and clerks?'

'Someone with authority has to keep an eye on things, Shinko.'

She folded her hands in her lap. 'I'd just like to see you sometimes, Roald. We _are_ married.'

Roald grimaced. He didn't want to be discussing _this_ and, even more so, he didn't want others to hear it, however quiet her voice was. 'I saw you this afternoon. You seemed to be having a lovely time with my mother.'

Before she could rejoin, he added, 'Now is not the time to be discussing this. We will talk of it later,' and he pressed her clasped hands with his own momentarily.

She looked up at him, eyes lit up. 'Will you be around this evening, then?'

Roald turned away rather than see any hurt in those delicate, almond-shaped eyes. He placed a forkful of honey roast pork into his mouth, giving him time to decide on his best answer. He chewed, he swallowed, but when he turned round again, Shinkokami was pushing her dinner away from her and locating her fan.

'Well, I'm-' Roald began. 'Are you feeling ill, Shinkokami? Are you _leaving_?' His voice held a little incredulous tone to it and inwardly he cursed for letting that slip.

'I am no longer hungry, Roald. If you don't mind, please excuse me, and I will return to our rooms. Perhaps when you have dealt with your engagements we can have that discussion?'

To his surprise, he sat there and just watched his wife walk out. He had never seen Shinkokami so _cold_ before; she reminded him of her friend, Yuki. _Yuki_ was the one to get cross and walk away, not delicate Shinko.

He pondered going after her, aware of the watching nobles and their gossiping.

'Ah, Roald!' said Jonathan, seemingly noticing his son's presence for the first time. 'Just the young man I wanted to see. Oh, where's Shinkokami?'

'She… She didn't feel well, Father,' replied Roald, turning back to the door she had disappeared through. He half expected to see her come back, laughing at how she'd fooled him.

'Oh _dear_,' Jon said, his blue eyes twinkling. 'Don't worry, son, she'll get over it soon, whatever it is.

'Now, as I was saying: Midwinter. Do you think…'

Roald blocked his wife momentarily from his thoughts, giving his father his full attention. He would seek Shinkokami out at his next opportunity. He was sure everything would work out for the best.

--

Roald walked down the silent corridor, longing for his bed. He suppressed that other urge- that longing for simpler times.

To his utter shock, when he came into his rooms, Shinkokami was not in bed. She was sitting in a hard-backed chair by the low fire, obviously waiting for him. There was no book or embroidery near at hand, she was simply sitting, looking into the fire with her hands neatly folded in her lap.

'Shinkokami,' he breathed, belatedly shutting the door.

'I thought we might talk, Roald.'

He sighed and rubbed his face. 'I'm tired.'

'And I'm your wife. Or had you forgotten?'

Roald froze. 'Of course I haven't forgotten.'

She raised one elegant eyebrow. 'You don't always appear to remember. Can we talk?'

With another sigh, he crossed the room and sat opposite her. He was being ridiculous; this must be costing the Yamani Princess considerably to be so forthcoming. It was obvious to all that since she had been living in Tortall her behaviour had loosened, but she was still prone to be introverted.

And he had no desire to be unfair to his wife. It was his own fault that it had come to this.

'I'm sorry, Shinkokami. Please-' he waved his hands in weary circles- 'be open with me. Do you mind if-?' He indicated his boots.

'Of course not,' she replied. He bent down and removed his boots, hiding his grimace: she sounded unbelievably tense. There was silence as Roald undid the lacings, wriggled his stocking-covered toes, and resettled himself in the chair. He waited, and still his wife just watched him.

'Please, Shinkokami, go ahead.'

'I want to _discuss_ this, Roald, not just me talk and you listen.'

'Very well, we _will_ discuss it, but I need you to start, if you will.' Still silence. 'I need to know we're on the same issue, Shinkokami.'

She winced and there was no fan for her to hide her face from him. 'There's more than one?'

Horrified, Roald realised what he'd implied, and stared blankly at her.

'And please stop calling me "Shinkokami".'

_That_ stopped his frantic thoughts. He blinked. 'Pardon?' When she didn't continue, he added, 'What do you mean?' He found, unbelievably, that his heart was thumping heavily and his hands were becoming clammy. This was _not_ a conversation he wanted to be having.

'You have reverted to calling me by my full name, as you did when you first met me. You no longer call me "Shinko".'

Relief flooded him momentarily, and he chuckled. 'I did not realise it bothered you so greatly.'

'It is more the motive that worries me.'

He blanched. Motive? His heart returned to its accelerated pace, his skin tingled. He was acting like a hormonal, unstable teenager and he couldn't help it. _What_ was she meaning?

There was silence, neither one speaking. Finally, Shinko caved. She had been waiting for this discussion for long enough now, and although it might not come easy to her to talk of their relationship and her own feelings, she wasn't about to pass up on the chance.

'You do not spend time with me any longer, Roald. I-'

Roald stood so abruptly that he knocked his boots over and Shinko visibly jumped. He was scowling.

'As I told you earlier, I'm very busy. A kingdom doesn't run on its own- especially one at war. I'm _tired_, Shinko, if we could _please_ continue this conversation at a more convenient time!'

She opened her mouth to argue, but changed her mind at the last moment. 'Very well. As you wish.'

Realising she wasn't going to quarrel, he sank back into his chair, running a hand through his hair in distraction. 'You have to try and understand, Shinkoka- _Shinko_. There's so much to be done; like I said, a kingdom doesn't run on its own.'

Steeling herself for his anger again, she kept her eyes steady on her interlocked fingers. 'But you're not King yet.'

He made no reply and when she finally dared to look up, he was slouched in his chair, staring into the fire. A frown played slightly on his forehead. Her voice had been so quiet; perhaps he hadn't even heard her.

She cleared her throat a little cautiously, but he didn't move. Was that-? Shinko squinted. Yes, she was sure of it. Roald had _wrinkles_. There were creases on his forehead, around his eyes- lines she was sure hadn't been there a year or so ago.

Her eyes wide, her heart disbelieving, she turned away. He was only just twenty-two. Wildly, she looked for something to distract herself- to distract _both_ of them. Her eyes settled on one lone, forgotten violet on the floor.

'When I came back from lunch today, the heavy mahogany cabinet had been pulled from the wall,' she started, a little quivery at first but her voice gradually became firmer. 'The servants swear they didn't do it, but it's most odd – Roald, are you even listening to me?'

He turned from his deep scrutiny of the fire. 'Hmm? Oh yes! Yes, of course. The servants, dear. You were talking about the servants.'

'I was talking about the cabinet, actually.'

'The cabinet? Oh, that was me.'

'You! _Roald_, whatever possessed you? Do you realise two of our wedding gifts have been ruined? The cut glass vase the Naxens gave to us is smashed and the lace mat the Countess of King's Reach bought from Pearlmouth, from the _oldest_ lace company of Tortall, is _stained_. You didn't even put the violets back in water, Roald!'

'I'm sorry, Shinkokami. The list of potential Midwinter festivities had fallen behind and Uncle Gary needed it. I didn't mean to break anything.' He still looked slightly preoccupied.

'Well next time think about moving anything breakable _before_ you start rearranging the furniture.'

He glared back into the fire. 'Stop scolding me, Shinkokami. They're as much mine as they are yours.'

'And that makes it better, does it? It doesn't matter if you break irreplaceable objects so long as you've got some claim to them.'

'Well it's better than me destroying something that was entirely yours, isn't it?' he demanded crossly, plopping his chin into his cupped palm with a scowl.

'The flowers weren't yours,' she said, her voice small. 'They were given to me from that young squire, you know the one- Master Harailt's pretty young nephew.'

'They're only flowers, woman, I can get you some more!'

Shinko pressed her back into the chair. 'Roald, there's no need to get mad, I-'

'You what? You would prefer violets from young squires than your husband? I can bring you roses otherwise, or lilies, or marigolds.'

'Roald, I don't understand!'

'Don't you?' He was standing now.

'Roald. You're scaring me.'

He sighed and looked to the ceiling, shoving his hands into his breeches pockets. His fingers closed on something smooth: it was still in his pocket. He hadn't changed his breeches for dinner, only his shirt and tunic, and the bracelet was still where he had put it when he had first found it. He should confront her now, get it out in the open while they had a chance to talk.

'Do you remember what I gave you for your first birthday here?' he asked.

'Why, yes, Roald. I remember every present you've given me. For my fifteenth birthday you gave me the fan with Yamani cats and Tortallan wolves painted on it (I still use it, you know), the book on Tortallan history and sunstone earbobs.'

'I know. And what about for your sixteenth?'

She smiled. 'You gave me that beautiful bracelet.'

'It was beautiful, wasn't it? I haven't seen it in so long. You promised to wear it always.'

She frowned. 'You're right, I haven't worn it recently. I'll wear it tomorrow, will that please you?' she smiled like a young girl.

He pulled the bracelet out and shoved it under her nose. 'Shinko, I found this under the cabinet! _Dusty!_ How long has it been missing?'

She frowned, taking the gold from him and running shapely fingers over it. 'Missing-? I thought it was in my box, with all my other special jewellery.'

'So you didn't even _notice_ it was gone?'

'Roald, I must have put it on the cabinet one day and it must have dropped behind, just like your scroll. You know I'd take it off when I was practicing with the _shukusen_ or the _naginata_ or going riding, in case I lost or broke it. I don't see why you're so cross, I'm sorry I misplaced it.'

'Shinko- that thing cost a lot of money!'

'I know that Roald. You never had to spend so much on me, you know.'

'I _wanted_ to. Don't you appreciate it?'

'Of _course_ I appreciate it, I love it.'

He snorted, beginning to pace the room. 'Some love; you were more anxious about your precious violets.'

'Roald!'

He stopped suddenly and pointed at the bangle. 'That is magic, Shinkokami. The stones have their own power.' As he talked, his anger fizzled away. 'Each one is either important for protection, or for healing. The citrine helps raise self-esteem too, and brings hope, and the tiger eye inspires bravery. The gold itself aids in clearing and purifying the mind.'

'You never told me any of this before, Roald.'

He sighed. 'I guess I didn't want you to feel over-protected at the time.' He yawned. 'I'm going to bed, I've got to be up early in the morning.'

'As you are every day,' she said as he walked into their bedroom. She followed him, and the first thing she did was put the bracelet carefully away in her locked box. 'Sometimes I wonder if the King himself rises as early as you do.'

She removed her brightly woven shawl and folded it neatly, placing it in a chest. He was undressing with his back to her. It had been so long since they readied for bed at the same time, Shinko found it almost strange. They had never given each other a good enough chance to get used to living in the same rooms after their marriage- or rather, Roald hadn't. His avoidance, work-all-hours tactics had slipped in within the first month.

He grunted. 'My father deserves all the rest he can get.'

Fingers working at the lacings that held her bodice tight, she rolled her eyes at him across the room. 'So do you. What good are you to him if you're tired? What good are you to anybody?'

Shirtless, belt-less and stocking-less, he turned and gave her an unyielding stare. 'Will you stop talking about everything like that. At _least_ in the bedroom.'

Shinko sighed. There were those avoidance tactics again. From across the room, she frowned- was that a cut on his shoulder? She finished struggling out of her Tortallan style dress and, sneaking a self-conscious glance at him, turned her back and exchanged her shift for her loose night dress.

Done, she went over to him, all the way on the other side of the room. He was nearly ready for bed too, but she wanted to see what marked his skin and she didn't want to have to take his clothes _off_.

Shinko stopped him as he was about to slip the night shirt over his head. A little crease formed between her brows as she pressed fingertips to his left shoulder.

'That's a nasty bruise.'

He looked where she indicated and saw a deep black-purple triangular mark, glaring against his pale skin. He frowned and a flash of memory hit him: _the heavy weight – shifting and pulling – the obstinate thing not wanting to move – the metal corner digging into his shoulder._

'It's from when I moved the cabinet.'

She shifted and her nightgown slipped off one shoulder, bearing exquisite skin. Roald was suddenly aware of the fact that he was standing in front of her in just a loincloth, his poised nightclothes bunched over his forearms. Apart from being freezing, he was feeling entirely vulnerable.

'If I had the Gift, I'd take it away for you,' she murmured, running fingers across the dark patch. Taking her hand away, she met his eyes and added, 'Why don't you-?' She twiddled her fingers.

Roald pressed two fingers to the coloured skin but they only shimmered slightly with his Gift. The bruise faded a little around the edges. Roald frowned.

'Roald?'

He turned away, pulling his clothes on. 'I'm just tired, that's all. Can't concentrate. I'll do it in the morning.' He went to the bed, beginning to arrange the sheets.

'Being a little tired has never affected your Gift before, has it?'

Roald sighed. 'I only have a small Gift, Shinkokami, not like my father's, or Kalasin's. You know I can't do a lot with it- light fires, small healings, unlock doors- it only makes sense that it be affected easily by my tiredness. Now, are you coming to bed or are you going to stand in the middle of the room all night and catch cold?'

She gave him a mulish look and pattered across the room. He watched her climb gracefully into their big bed, delicate toes curling at the coldness of the sheets. She smiled a little tremulously up at him.

They had consummated their marriage in that first week- more than once- but after _weeks_ of retiring to the same bed at different hours, it felt more than a little odd to be sitting next to each other now.

'Goodnight, Shinko.' He rolled over to blow out the candle, missing the crestfallen look on her face.

She sunk down into the feather mattress, hugging the thick quilts tight around her shoulders. The single flame spluttered and died. 'Goodnight, Roald.'

Her voice must have betrayed something- a gentle tremble, perhaps? Because once he had settled himself beneath the covers, Roald's hand sought out hers and pulled it to his lips for a light kiss, before he rolled onto his side for the night.

Shinko pulled that hand tight to her breast and held it there while she slept.

--


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four.**

It was a sunny morning for December, but there was still a chill in the air. Soon the snows would set in and truly block the roads. For now though, there was still nearly a week for nobles and gentry to gather at the palace if they so wished. However, many of the noble families that lived on the outskirts of the realm moved to their home manors in the autumn, to remain there until spring.

For Roald the weather made little direct difference to him at the moment. He stayed inside, where he worked with ink and parchment. He practiced for a measly few hours twice a week in the private Royal inside practice court, and had handed over the care of his fine horses to the ostlers.

It only affected the Crown Prince in the contents of the accounts that landed on his desk. Few and far between would be the reports on the farms and the state of the land over the winter. The only reports that could get through would be those closer to home: from Corus, from Port Caynn. Any others would have to be transferred through mages' speaking spells.

Roald looked up in surprise as the side door opened. It was early; the clerks were not around yet and Sir Gareth certainly wasn't present.

It was the pretty serving girl, carrying a fully-laden tray. She bobbed respectfully to his Highness, her eyes demurely cast to the ground, and shut the door with her foot.

'Oh, good morning,' said Roald. 'I'd forgotten I'd asked you to bring that up.' He smiled, grateful for her good memory and the good food. 'It's very early.'

She looked up, her features clearly panic-stricken. 'Is it too early, your Highness? I can bring it back later for you, my lord.'

'Oh no, no! Now is fine, thank you. Now is _better_.'

'Very well, your Highness.' She came forward once more and Roald shifted his paperwork so there was a clear spot on his desk. She off-loaded the food: a spread just as wealthy as the previous morning.

'Ah, you spoil me,' teased Roald, greedily taking in the porridge; the bread; the cheese; the fruit; and the thick, yellowy butter, the runny honey, and the bold jam all in their little terracotta pots. As soon as everything was laid out, Roald pulled the bowl of porridge towards him, pouring milk on top, and spooning on honey and sugar. He was feeling quite hungry this morning and was willing to pause in his work to eat a good breakfast.

'If that is all, m'lord?'

Roald looked up; he had momentarily forgotten the maid in his eagerness for hot porridge. 'Yes, that is everything, thank you.' She curtseyed and left the Prince to his lonely breakfast.

--

Roald's eyes left the document on the annual Southern Tortallan vineyard produce as his cousin sauntered into his office. It was later in the morning now; Gary and the clerks had been present for just over an hour and the Prince had already had his morning banter with his Uncle.

'I was told I could find you here,' Faleron drawled in a lazy way. 'What _are_ you doing?'

Roald twiddled the quill between his thumb and finger and fixed Faleron with a look of strained patience. He returned his gaze to the wine report before replying, 'Work.'

Faleron rolled his eyes. 'What _kind_ of work?'

'Whatever needs to be done. Authorising requests, reading reports, checking financial documents.'

'Well, I can see you're keeping very busy.

'May I join you? I could do with the company.' When Roald didn't reply, Faleron carefully moved the stack of books from the only spare chair and brought it to the side of the desk. Resting his chin in his palm, his elbow on the edge of the desk, he watched his cousin. Roald- to all appearances- ignored him.

The cousins were silent for some time, one lost in words and figures, the other floundering in memories. The noise from the clerks in the adjacent office drifted in through the open door.

'Do you miss her?' he asked suddenly, abruptly. Roald- surprised- glanced up, pondering who he meant.

'Kally?' Faleron nodded and Roald paused in his work, considering his answer carefully. 'Well… of course I _miss_ her.'

Faleron snorted. 'She's got such an exuberant personality, you couldn't _not_ miss her. But?'

Roald put his quill down, sitting back in his chair. 'But, well, she hasn't been around much recently anyway. It's not hugely different with her being in Carthak because she's been staying with _you_.' Faleron smiled ruefully and Roald turned back to his work.

'It's too quiet without her there.'

'I did wonder why you had suddenly returned to Court.' Roald tried to ignore the slight pink toning of his friend's cheeks and the way Faleron swallowed- once, twice. The Prince bent his head, deciding he didn't want to know.

'Well,' valiantly teased Faleron, 'I can't stay away forever, can I? Actually-' he sobered up- 'it's a little more complex than that.'

Roald frowned, suddenly realising that Faleron _was in Corus_. 'Why aren't you at the border?' he snapped.

Faleron raised his eyebrows again, his voice soft. 'I got sent home. I was one of the first set of knights to go up to the border and we've been given the Midwinter to recuperate away from the war.'

Roald frowned, turning away. Why hadn't he heard of this decision? Had Gareth carefully kept it from him, or was it news that wasn't being broadcast?

Sensing his cousin's mood change, Faleron stood, stretching. 'Well, I'm off. I've got an appointment with my horse to keep. Perhaps I'll catch you later, unless you want to come riding…?' He let the question hang in the air.

'Riding?' joined a new voice. Faleron jumped and pivoted to see Sir Gareth standing in the doorway. 'What a wonderful idea, Sir Faleron. Don't you agree Roald?'

Oh, so that was it. If Gary couldn't stop him from working altogether, he was going to make him take as many breaks as he could. He already encouraged Roald to visit Queen Thayet in the afternoons and now it would look incredibly rude for the Prince to refuse his cousin's invitation.

Sending a scowl at the grinning Sir Gareth, Roald grudgingly agreed.

'Great,' said Faleron. 'Well, I need to find my riding gloves but it shouldn't take me long.'

Remembering his cousin and his inability to locate his own personal belongings, Roald said, 'I'll just get something warm from my rooms and I'll meet you at yours.'

They parted and Roald took his time walking. He knew it would take Faleron longer than expected to find those all-important riding gloves of his.

--

Dressed in warm furs to keep the bitter winter weather from chilling his bones, Roald knocked on the door. He began to regret putting the heavy cloak on while he was still inside- he was boiling.

'Come in!' called Faleron, 'It's open.'

Roald opened the door and gasped. The room before him was a _state_. His cousin had strewn his belongings _everywhere_; the chests were open and empty, the drawers were upturned. Even the bed had been stripped. No wonder he could never find what he wanted.

Faleron looked a little sheepish. 'I can't find it.'

Roald tried not to roll his eyes. 'So you had to turn your room inside out? They're only gloves, it's not _that_ important.' The Prince frowned- had that pile of clothes by the foot of the bed just moved?

'Well, it's not _entirely_ my fault that the place is such a mess,' began Faleron. Roald watched the heap of shirts. Yes, it definitely wiggled across the floor. He began to feel a little nervous, and wished he had his sword with him. Did Faleron know he had some kind of monster in his room?

Roald's tired mind swam. What was it? Was it another baby griffin, like Kel had been burdened with? He stiffened, waiting. The shirts wiggled some more.

Then, all of a sudden, a small head popped out from a shirt-neck. Large eyes thickly rimmed with black stared at the Prince. It was a cat of some sort, although a stranger cat than any Roald had ever seen before. Its fur was sandy-tan, with strange black markings. He sported a large pink nose, and big, cupping ears that twitched back and forth.

Roald calmed. It was only a cat, although it _did_ look more like something from the Menagerie. Keeping one eye on the creature, he returned to the conversation. 'If we're going for that ride, we'd better go, riding gloves or not, Faleron. I don't-'

The cat was wiggling itself free of the shirts and Roald realised it was a _big_ cat. Those strange black markings continued down the length of its body, a sleek body the size of a medium dog. He swallowed. It _definitely_ looked like something from the Royal Menagerie's exotic section.

Free of the shirt, the "cat" bounded across the room towards the Prince. Dashing in, Faleron swooped down and picked the creature up, holding it away from his body as paws swiped.

'Oh no you don't.'

Roald watched in wonder as the cat settled, expertly handled by the elder knight. Faleron tucked the creature into his chest and arms. It was as long as his torso. He grinned meekly at the prince.

'Faleron, I think you have some explaining to do.'

'I found her not far from home when I was returning from the border. She was wandering the forest, very thin and hungry. I took her back to King's Reach and got in contact with some people.

'Apparently she's an ocelot, whatever that is. Some kind of exotic cat, like the tigers, leopards and such in your Menagerie.' Faleron tickled behind the ocelot's ears. 'From what we can deduce, she's an escapee from some family nearby. Or maybe not nearby: she could have travelled for some time before I found her.'

Roald blinked. 'But it's illegal for people to keep pets such as this!'

Faleron shrugged. 'You think that'd stop them?' Bundling the ocelot up so he could look into her face, he smiled and kissed the cat's muzzle. 'She's my little gem, even if she is a bit rough around the edges.' She swiped at his face, her tail swishing. Dodging her paws, Faleron put her down on the floor. Immediately she twined around his feet, for all like a domestic cat. He patted her on the head and then quickly ushered Roald out, locking the door behind him.

'It's okay,' he said as he locked the door. 'She's nocturnal, she'll go to sleep now. She was only awake because I came in and added more mess to the chaos she'd already made. She thought it was great fun.'

They started towards the stables, Faleron continuing to explain as they went. 'She kicked up an awful mess at home, and you can imagine how pleased Mother was. That's part of why I came here: I knew it wouldn't matter how much of a state she made in my palace room.

'But she seems to have calmed down since we've been here. I'm hoping it's the presence of the wiser palace animals.'

Roald's eyes and voice were firm and cold. 'Faleron, you can't get too attached to it.'

'Her- I know _that_ much.' He sighed. 'I know. It was a bit silly of me to take her in the first place, but I couldn't leave her to die now, could I?'

'She's a wild cat, Fal.'

'I know, I know.' He sighed again; this topic had obviously- unsurprisingly- been troubling him. They came out into the courtyards and began to make their way to the stables. 'I took her to the Menagerie Guardians as soon as I got here, but they won't have anything to do with her. They checked her over and she's in sound health and they've told me what to feed her and such, but they say she's too young and impetuous to just put in with their cats. They'd all fight and she'd probably end up getting killed. So, they won't do anything until Daine returns.'

'But she's at the border.' They came into the stables and Faleron quickly set to work on his Starling. Roald's horse was in the Royal stables.

'They- the Guardians- have sent a request for Daine to come down shortly. There are some other things they need her to check out too, apparently. But until the Wildmage returns I'm stuck with my little gem.' He grinned. 'Not that I mind.'

Roald shook his head. He thought of his Aunt, the Countess of King's Reach, dealing with a young ocelot wrecking her ancient home, and a slow, _reluctant_ smile spread across his face. 'I can just imagine how pleased your mother was when you came home with _that_.'

Faleron's grin faded a little. 'If only Kally were still here… She'd love her, I'm sure. She'd play with her for hours and sit there and stroke her fur…' He sighed and buckled the last of Starling's saddle. 'Never mind, I'm sure she's got plenty of far more wonderful creatures she can watch in Carthak. Right, I'm done. Let's get your horse.'

They went on to the Royal stables and Faleron walked Starling around the courtyard while Roald saddled up. Done, they rode out to meet the others. It was a small group of young nobles that had been brave enough to face the cold weather. This was one of the last chances they'd have to go riding before the snows and the ice set in and made it too dangerous for their mounts.

To his surprise, as the party set off Roald saw Shinko at the front, wrapped up warm in thick furs, in deep conversation with a lady he did not recognise. He watched his wife for a moment, wondering if she knew he was there. If she did, she was purposely ignoring him.

He cast an eye for Faleron; the knight was talking to a cold-looking man, thin and weedy. Roald shook his head at his cousin's folly. He was already far too attached to that cat-thing. It was a _wild animal_, for Gods' sake, he couldn't keep it tame in his rooms for ever!

A chill that had nothing to do with the weather crept down his spine as he went back over their conversation in his mind.

"_They- the Guardians- have sent a request for Daine to come down shortly. Until the Wildmage returns I'm stuck with my little gem."_

Roald swallowed and looked to the horizon, grey and blank. The Guardians of the Menagerie had sent in a request a few days ago, asking for a short visit from the Wildmage, and it had come to him.

Roald had refused it.

They had put very few details in their request, so it had seemed unimportant. And Daine was _extremely_ important- nay, _necessary_- to the war. She could get into places other spies couldn't, and with her animal friends she had ears everywhere. She was the most efficient scout and was able to relay messages quicker than a mounted courier, especially on the rough terrain of the border.

And it was a long way for her to come to Corus, even to fly in bird-shape, particularly for a few odd jobs. They could wait.

Now, Roald knew he had encumbered his friend with more problems. Faleron would have to look after this strange charge of his for longer, and, even more problematic, it was clear he was going to grow fonder of her every day.

Catching the Prince's eyes on him, Faleron excused himself from his conversation with the weedy man and returned to his cousin. 'Nice and fresh out here, isn't it?'

Roald couldn't return Faleron's grin.

'Oh, come on, man, cheer up a bit. At least they're not pummelling us into the ground.'

It took a moment for his words to register with Roald: the war. Faleron thought Roald was worrying about the war but in truth, for once, he wasn't. He had made a mistake in his decisions and he was struggling with the guilt of that. On top, he was pondering whether or not to tell Faleron what he had done.

'Who is that woman my wife is talking with?' he suddenly said, his eyes falling again on Shinko. She was still enraptured by that same young woman. Roald couldn't get a good impression of what she looked like; she was enshrouded in a thick cloak like everyone else.

'That's Lady Reana of Heathercove, up north. She's been at Heathercove for a while and brings tidings of Lady Yukimi to the Princess.'

Roald's eyebrows shot up. He had been wondering what had happened to peppery Yuki. She had travelled north with Buri Tourakom after his wedding celebrations had ended; he knew from Shinko that she had been desperate to see her betrothed, Neal. She had written to Shinko to say that she was staying at New Hope for a short time, as an assistant healer and to use her Gift to help with the crops and readying the land for the next year's batch. Roald had wondered if she was coming back for Midwinter; his wife missed her.

'Is she often at Court?' Roald asked. 'I don't recognise her much, although the name is familiar.'

'I think she's at Court most summers and spends the winters at home.'

Roald nodded, his interest in the young woman fading. His cousin, however, continued the rather one-sided conversation.

'Poor girl,' muttered Faleron under his breath, drawing his horse nearer. 'She's close with the Yamani ladies, I hear; apparently there's Yamani blood in her family from some generations back, although you'd never know it from looking at her. But she was completely enamoured with our Neal, you know. Poor thing was near heart-broken when he announced his betrothal to Lady Yukimi.

'It didn't help that her brother- in the Riders- was killed at the end of September.'

'I am sorry for their loss,' Roald murmured- almost automatically- his mind still partly preoccupied by Faleron's new pet. 'Does the family have any other sons in the war?'

'Oh, no- he wasn't killed in the war. He was in a Rider group attacked on routine bandit patrols. It seems the rest of the realm's vagabonds want to take advantage of our weak season too. But yes, they have another son- a mage. Older, I believe. There was no knight from the family this generation.'

'How do you know all this? I never realised you were such a _gossiper_.'

Faleron grimaced. 'A trait I inherited from my Mother and made a lot worse by your dear sister's influence on me.'

'Of _course_ it's _Kally's_ fault.' Faleron grinned and a lull settled in the conversation. Roald wrestled with himself. Finally- 'Faleron?'

'Hmm?'

'You know about- _her_?' Faleron's eyebrows rose and Roald nodded back towards the palace.

'Oh right, _her_. Yes?'

Roald nudged his horse closer to Faleron's, lowering his voice. 'You said you believed she was an escapee pet?'

Faleron nodded. 'That's right. Probably either some jumped-up out of the way noble, or a wealthy merchant trying to impress his neighbours or please his mistress or daughter. Why? I know it's illegal, you don't have to tell _me_ that.'

Roald did know: Faleron had had the best mind for law when they were all pages and he doubted things had changed. The Prince bit his lip, hesitating again. He was afraid he knew the answer already. 'How do you find out for sure?'

The man shrugged. 'When Daine returns, I hope. Hopefully she'll be able to tell from the creature's thoughts where it's been, where it was held- and then we can make thorough investigations.'

Roald's stomach had dropped out. He had made the wrong decision and now he had prevented justice as well as burdening his cousin with a wild animal. He had inadvertently helped a criminal.

What would happen to the cat- _ocelot_- when its owner was found? What would happen when Faleron returned to the border?

Roald suddenly realised they were riding back into the palace. He had missed the entire ride, so caught up had he been in his own world. The whole morning's exercise had just created more problems for him instead of acting as relaxation.

'Good morning, Roald.'

He jumped and saw that his wife had rode up to his side while he was lost in his worry.

'Good morning, Shinko.'

'It is quite cold, is it not? I am still not accustomed to your winters, I don't think.'

Great. She was making small talk.

'I'm surprised to see you out with us, Roald. I thought you were too busy?'

Roald made a face. 'Uncle Gary unfortunately overheard Faleron's invitation and gave me no choice in the matter.' He dismounted and- leaving his reins in the hands of a young awe-struck boy- helped his wife dismount as custom demanded.

'Shall I expect to see you this afternoon?'

'No. I have spent too much time away from work with this.' He waved his hand to encompass the dismounting nobles and their horses.

'I shall tell your mother.'

Roald inclined his head in thanks, leading her into the palace. She rested her hand on top of his, trying to hold her skirts slightly free of the wet ground.

'I shall see you at supper,' he said once they were inside. He hesitated as he had been doing all morning and was about to kiss her cheek when he caught a streak of blue and white out of the corner of his eye: a palace maid. Panicked, he pulled away and left his wife with a curt nod.

That evening, Roald was late to dinner and stayed for only two courses. He was so tired by the time he got to bed that he slept in his loincloth and blue shirt, not bothering to change to his nightshirt. It was so late that it was almost pointless going to bed at all.

--

_A/N: "Heathcove", Lady Reana's home, is supposedly one of the fiefs of Tortall, that (as far as I'm aware) hasn't been mentioned in any of the books so far._

_For those of you confused by Faleron's mentions of Kalasin, read Lady Silvamord's "Empress Lessons" or "Blind" by me, part four of "Intoxications"._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five.**

It was early afternoon and Roald was waiting for the report to come through from Lord Provost. With the realm being in its high-security war phase, the King wanted careful tabs kept on the shadier characters of Corus. Lord Provost was sending reports through every other day, even during the cold winter months. Although mobility was harder when the streets were icy, the people became more desperate, with little food to eat and little wood to keep their drafty homes warm.

At first Sir Gareth had been receiving these reports, and when Roald had begun helping out he had sat in on them too, curious. When Sir Gary had to be called away one day, Roald had taken over and ever since then the reports had come to his desk instead.

Roald found the reports on criminals strangely intriguing. It made him wonder what might convince someone to lead such a life, and often increased his longings to be a "normal" person- to understand the pangs of hunger and poverty and not have the future responsibility of so many hanging over him.

His thoughts dashed to his family and to his wife. He sighed. He had barely spoken to Shinkokami after riding yesterday and their conversation from two nights ago still played on his mind. He should not have been so quick with her that night- particularly when she had brought up the topic of her name. He had been tired, but that was no excuse.

In truth, her comment about a "motive" had hit a sore spot. She had aimed, fired, and hit the target and he didn't think she was even completely aware of that herself. In his own defence, he hadn't particularly noticed that he didn't use her nickname any more; he was making an effort to now. But it was true- there _had_ been a "motive". They were growing apart instead of closer and it felt almost too intimate to call the Princess "Shinko", despite the fact they were now married.

'Excuse me, your Highness?'

Roald looked up, hoping this was Lord Provost's man. It wasn't. The man was dressed in the blue and white of normal palace servants, not the black and red livery of my Lord's men.

'Princess Shinkokami wishes to see you, your Highness.'

Roald pursed his lips together: it was time to make another quick decision. He was expecting this report at any moment, but on the other hand, Shinko _never_ requested him during the day. If he didn't see her, it would likely upset his wife.

She, however, had to be aware that his duties came first.

'Please convey my apologies to the Princess. I am very busy at the moment.' Dismissed, the man left and Roald went back to his work while he waited for the report.

To his surprise, the next arrival was once again not the man he was expecting. Roald looked up to see Shinko shutting the door.

'Shinko,' he commented. Then he frowned a little, adding, 'Shinko, I'm sorry but we cannot talk for very long, I'm expecting an important report to arrive any minute.'

'This will not take long. It's about Lianne.'

Roald went rigid in his chair and very slowly laid down his quill. 'What's wrong with Lianne?'

'There's been an accident.' Roald paled. His eyes seemed even more startlingly blue than normal. 'I was nearby at the time; I sent for you- your parents are unavailable at the moment.'

Roald fought to keep focused. 'Is she badly hurt? Where is she?'

Shinko was, as ever, an image of undisturbed calm. 'Lianne is with the healers, currently unconscious.'

There was a knock on the door and the Lord Provost's man- long past due now- came into the room. He took one look at the Prince's face and stopped short, glancing at Shinkokami.

For a moment, there was silence as everyone waited. Roald was trying to get a grip on the situation and decide the best course of action, Shinko felt it was not her place to speak up, and the newcomer was too surprised to do anything but wait.

Finally Roald stood up and beckoned to the black-and-red-dressed man.

'Come with me.' Striding determinedly, the Prince crossed to Gareth of Naxen's private office, a large room crammed with intricately labelled documents.

'Uncle, can you see this man, please,' stated Roald, his tone slightly clipped. Gary looked up in surprise.

'Is this my Lord Provost's man? Roald, what's wrong?'

Roald glanced at the eagerly-listening reporter and decided to keep his sister's affairs hushed for now. They would be in court gossip soon enough without him assisting.

'There's been some family business I need to attend to.'

Gary's face- normally so composed- expressed the sudden shock and fear he felt. It was obvious he itched to know what had happened but, above all else, Gary was a politician and understood the need for privacy. He swallowed his questions and nodded, allowing Roald to leave.

Shinko was waiting for Roald and together they walked briskly down to the healer's wing, Roald's hands as curled fists by his sides. No-one stopped them, particularly not when they began to talk in clipped whispers, but giggling gossips set to work as the Royal couple passed.

'What happened?' Roald asked his wife as they came closer to the healers.

'There was a scuffle between some men. Unfortunately, Princess Lianne and some of her friends were passing by at the time. The Princess was knocked down the stairs.'

Roald sucked in a deep breath. No man, be him servant, Courtier or warrior, should be scuffling in the palace corridors, particularly not when ladies were around. Roald clenched and unclenched his fists, struggling to keep his calm. He cared deeply for his sisters and felt very protective of them; if anything happened to them it always angered him. Now, being so tired and emotionally drawn, he was _furious_.

'How badly is she hurt?'

'I do not know, Roald. I have not heard the diagnosis.'

They had entered the healer's section of the palace and the staff bobbed respectful curtsies as the Royal couple hurried by. Shinko went directly to the room where Lianne was lying, still unconscious. Immediately, Roald was by her side, taking the young girl's hand and dropping to his knees.

Apart from being asleep and quite pale, Roald had to admit Lianne didn't _look_ injured. He turned to the healers standing at the end of her bed. They were young and looked nervous in the presence of the Royals.

'Duke Baird will be along directly to explain your sister's injuries, your Highness,' said one of them suddenly. Roald nodded and turned back.

'Where are my parents?' he asked Shinko suddenly, remembering she had said they were unavailable.

'They are in Council.'

'They should be sent for,' he stated. 'They would want to be here.'

Shinko nodded. 'I shall see to it.' She left.

Roald ran the pad of his thumb across Lianne's knuckles. He was tempted- oh, so sorely tempted- to use his Gift to check her himself. But he was too scared of what he might find; too many days spent struggling to heal the soldiers wounded on the border played in the forefront of his troubled mind. Often, the warriors that looked well could hold the biggest secrets beneath skin and muscle and be the hardest to heal.

His heart began to speed up as his imagination got the better of him. He found he was remembering everything he and Lianne had done when they were younger, and was recapping all the little injuries she had had in the past, searching for something that could complicate matters now. He began to sweat.

'Ah, Roald,' said Duke Baird as he entered. He handed one of the young healers the chalkboard he had been examining and came to the Prince's side. 'Don't look so worried, your Highness. She'll be fine.'

'So no internal injuries?' _That_ had been seriously worrying Roald: if he couldn't see the injuries, they _must_ be inside, which were much more serious.

Baird smiled and shook his head. Leaning forward, he shifted Lianne's shoulder-length black hair, revealing a cut on her scalp. The blood was already dry.

'She's bumped her head nastily, your Highness, but nothing too serious. It's just a surface wound and can be healed up in no time, without leaving a scar.'

'Is that all?' Relief flooded Roald's face.

'No, not quite.' Baird pulled back the right shoulder of Lianne's dress. Beneath, the soft white skin was marred by a spreading, ugly dark bruise.

'She's broken her collarbone. It will need setting, hence why we've kept her unconscious for now.'

'Lianne!' The men looked up to see Thayet in the doorway, cheeks flushed from her rush to her daughter. Roald stepped back to let his Mother sit on the bed next to the Princess. She took the hand Roald had just dropped.

'Is it serious, Baird?' Thayet's voice was harsh. Jon entered the room in time to hear the reply.

'No, Thayet. A broken collarbone and a cut on the head.'

The Queen sagged in relief and Jon squeezed her shoulder. 'Thank you for sending for us anyway.'

'Shall I proceed with the setting immediately?' asked Baird, needing their permission.

'Yes,' said the King. 'And we must return to Council- we shouldn't have left. If it had been anyone else… Baird can you make sure she is not alone when she wakes up please?'

Thayet smiled grimly. 'Lianne never takes well to healings. It always disorientates her.'

'Of course, your Majesties.'

Thayet smiled at Roald and Roald suddenly looked for Shinko. She stood on the other side of the room, separate from the Contés. When she caught Roald looking at her, she whipped open her fan to cover her face.

---

Princess Shinkokami walked briskly down the corridor, her fingers tight around her blue fan. After six years, she knew the palace as well as she ever would and her feet never erred on their way to the menagerie.

She stopped outside the large area that held the striped horses and the exotic-looking deer. She watched them graze, remembering when Roald used to bring her here in the evenings- just the two of them- and talk quietly.

Those days were gone now. Now she was lucky if she saw her husband long enough to have a decent conversation.

Shinko had known she would never marry for love; it wasn't the way her people dealt with marriage- regardless of whether she was a princess or a chambermaid. Marriage in the Yamani Isles was a measure of status and was inevitably arranged through your parents. If she had stayed at home and married a Yamani, chances were she would not have met her fiancé before the wedding ceremony. At least she had been given a chance to get used to Roald before they completely shared their lives.

Shinko had therefore never come to Tortall with the expectation of _falling_ in love. The Tortallan women that cooed and swooned over the men that paid them attention were a surprise to her- their behaviour completely bemused Shinko. Without the deep belief these Tortallan women held in the prospect of love, and knowing what was expected of her, she had actually welcomed the chance of travelling abroad and moving to a new land. As much as she loved her home Isles, Tortall was a completely different _world_.

It had been hard to adjust at first- these people were so extroverted! And she had been terribly nervous around her future husband until they had become good friends. She had even pondered for a while the possibility that that friendship might develop into something deeper.

But in recent troubles, their friendship had somehow dwindled to the barest embers. Neither of them were largely artificial or extravagant people (Yuki had once said to Shinko that the Royal couple were "cut from the same cloth") but they had enjoyed spending their spare time in each other's company, walking, riding, and talking. Plus as Shinko became adjusted to the Tortallans, her fiancé gradually got her to open up more.

Now all of that seemed gone, as if it had disappeared over night. She knew it hadn't of course- relationships just didn't _disappear-_ but they were not the same as they had once been.

The Princess moved along to watch the big cats. A few of the lionesses prowled around their home; the rest lay in the tall grass, seemingly enjoying their dreams. The male lion- "King of the Beasts" Roald had said the scholars called him- lay in the midst of his lionesses, watching everything around him with a careful eye.

He certainly _looks_ very kingly, Shinko thought. She sighed inwardly. She didn't expect to love Roald, nor for him to love _her_, and she would not create a fuss if their friendship was not to be either, but what she _did _want was for them to talk again. One day he would be King, and if she was to be the Queen by his side, she needed to know she could completely support him. How could she do that if he acted like she was unimportant?

It did hurt her sometimes that he obviously couldn't care for her. After six years, she had thought they shared _some_ kind of bond that couldn't be breached; clearly she was wrong. She didn't know if it was right or not for him to care more for his sisters than his wife.

The lion yawned and settled his big, crowned head on his paws. Shinko smiled. He truly was a magnificent creature, whether he was King or not.

There was a dress to be fitted and arrangements to be made for various upcoming events; she couldn't stand around here all afternoon daydreaming. She was in Tortall now, not the Isles: in a place of action, adventure and chivalry.

In a place of war and business and death, just like any other realm.

---

Roald tried to keep calm, knowing that a man that lost his temper was impolite, and a king that lost his temper was a sure advertisement for discontented subjects. So he bit down hard and clenched his fists, willing himself to remain the cool-headed, collected prince he had always been.

But it was difficult. He was- as his wife had witnessed first hand recently- considerably short tempered at the moment and these men had hurt his sister, one of the worst offences as far as he was concerned.

'Would you mind just explaining again, please, gentlemen.' He tried not to lean too heavily on the table; his voice sounded forced as he fought to stay just.

'Well, Highness,' said the merchantman, wringing his hat between his hands. It was a gaudy affair- bright silks, layered with Gallan fur and decorated with shockingly-coloured feathers of ridiculous size: it made him seem the upstart he was, trying to impress, rather than a true wealthy gentleman.

'Well, you see, it was an accident,' the merchant continued. 'This man here- this _good fellow_-' he indicated the tight-jawed tall palace servant beside him- 'well, you see, we had a slight disagreement and things got a bit out of hand.'

'You're not being very helpful,' Roald growled. 'The Princess was knocked down the stairs because of your folly. She is injured and currently recuperating in the Healer's Wing of the palace, under the Duke of Queenscove's care. I hope you realise what might have happened instead.'

The merchant had stopped twiddling with his hat. He looked ill. The servant continued to stare at the same spot on the wall that he'd been watching throughout the entire interview.

Roald surveyed the two men. They should both know the rules as to no fighting in palace corridors, especially the servant- and the consequences.

However, Roald was not stupid. At this time they couldn't afford to lose more people and support through a broken collarbone: he would make sure neither lost their life as a traitor, or their job. But they could not get away completely free. The merchant would have a hefty fine and the worker would have his wages cut short this month.

The Prince sighed. 'I'll take down your names and you will be contacted within the next few days as to the details of your fine for your ill behaviour on palace grounds. My Lord Provost may wish to see you. You will not lose your jobs.'

Both men- even the composed servant- looked relieved at that. The fine would probably have more impact on _him_ than the well to-do trader, but that could not be helped. At least he should remember not to start any fights in the future.

Roald took their names down. He also wanted to speak to the servant at another time, without the merchant present, to see if the tight-lipped man would give his own version of accounts.

Just as the men were leaving, a messenger came for the Prince, dressed in the green-trimmed white of the palace healers. Duke Baird wished to know if he could contact Roald when Lianne woke, as her parents would be too busy; the Chief Healer knew Roald held a soft spot for his sisters.

The Prince chewed on his lower lip. After everything that had happened today, he didn't really feel like going back to his office. He made his way to Lianne's rooms, hoping to find a little sanctuary.

---


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six.**

Roald was waiting. He sat with his elbows resting on his wide-spread knees, his hands clasped, watching.

Lianne blinked her pretty blue eyes open and Roald smiled.

'Annie,' he said softly. 'Lianne.' She blinked and turned her head to look at him, grimacing slightly.

'Roald.'

'Hello there. How are you feeling?'

Lianne made an undistinguishable noise and pressed fingers to her temple. 'What happened? Where am I and _what_ are you doing here?'

'Ssh, Annie.'

She wrinkled her nose. 'You don't _ever_ call me that anymore. That's what Kally calls me. Is Kally here too?' She looked hopeful, and Roald shook his head, upset at how disorientated these healings made his sister. She looked crestfallen but said determinedly, 'I'm _sixteen_ now; you don't have to call me such childish names any more.'

He smiled. 'Oh, but Annie, who else am I going to tease otherwise?'

'You, tease? That's Liam's job, not yours.'

Roald's smile faded and he resolutely returned to the matter at hand. 'You've had a healing, Lianne. I waited until you woke up to explain things to you.'

'Oh. So Kalasin's still in Carthak?' Roald nodded. In response, the Princess struggled to sit up and gasped as she put weight through her right arm. Roald leapt forward and supported her with his strong arms until she was comfortable.

'Careful there, little one.'

Lianne made a face at the endearment. '_What_ happened? You'd better tell me, Roald.'

'There was an argument between some of the serving men and a visiting merchant. A little scuffle unfortunately sent you and two of your friends down the stairs. You knocked your head and broke your collarbone.'

'And my friends?' Lianne set to pleating the crisp bed sheets.

Roald pulled a grim face. 'Somehow you managed to come the worst off, not that I'm wishing injuries on anyone. They suffered a few bumps and bruises, but nothing serious.'

'Good.'

They sat in silence for a few minutes, to the extent that Roald was contriving a plausible reason to leave. Finally Lianne cleared her throat and asked for a drink. As he poured her some cool water, she talked to him, her voice a little raspy.

'Sorry, Roald, I was thinking. It was coming back to me, you see.' He nodded his understanding, wondering how odd it must be for Lianne's short-term memory to temporarily fade after a healing.

'I think I remember now. What happened, I mean. I remembered Shinko rushed out- that's the last thing I remember after falling down the stairs. She was very kind, I think. She dropped to the floor- right there! In that dusty corridor in her pretty kimono!- and put my head on her lap.' She frowned. 'At least I _think_ she did, I might have dreamt it. Was Shinko there, Roald?'

He blinked at her, like a rabbit frozen in place when the fox was near. His mind was utterly blank and he realised he hadn't spoken to Shinko since the accident yesterday afternoon. At his parents' request that someone be nearby when Lianne woke up and at Duke Baird's request that it be Roald that was called, Roald had spent the night on a cot in an adjoining room to Lianne's. He hadn't returned to the bed he normally spent with Shinko, and now he just hoped someone had let her know.

One thing he _did_ know: he was going to be trouble. He glanced at the window. Well, it was still mid-morning, if he was lucky and saw Shinko now, she might forgive him- to a certain degree.

He cleared his throat. 'Yes, I believe Shinko was there, Lianne. It was Shinko that sent for me, at any rate.'

Lianne glared at him, reminding him of their older sister with a painful tightening in the chest.

'You've got your princely voice on again,' she chastised.

'What?'

Lianne picked dust off the bedcover. 'When you're not Roald, you're the Crown Prince. And when you're the Crown Prince you have this voice you put on, and you're doing it now. It's your "don't disagree with me" voice, when you don't want to deal with things.'

Roald watched his sister in surprise, _too_ surprised to think of a suitable reply. She looked up, demanding abruptly, 'Are you talking to Shinko yet?'

'Talking to…? Lianne, she's my _wife_.'

'So? And _don't_ put that voice on again, Roald.'

He frowned. 'I'm not "putting on" any voice, Lianne.'

'Well? Are you talking to her?'

'Of _course_ I'm talking to her.'

The Princess rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest with a wince. 'As much as you talk to any of us, I bet. Roald-'

Roald stood up abruptly. 'Lianne, Shinko is my wife and I care about her- before you question _that_ as well. I'll fetch Duke Baird: he wanted to speak to you once you woke up.'

'Roald, don't walk out! I'm _trying_ to talk to you here, I'm trying to _help_-'

Roald stopped halfway to the door, and pivoted, clasping the end of her bed tightly. 'Lianne, you are sixteen. I appreciate your efforts and your interest, but you are _sixteen_ and you are _not _married.'

Lianne rolled her eyes and turned away as best she could, watching from the corner of her vision as he left. Under her breath, she mumbled, 'You _bore_. Just because I'm _sixteen_ doesn't mean I'm witless.'

Roald briskly left the healers wing, stopping only to alert Baird of Lianne's consciousness. Now _what_ had made her start talking to him of his marriage? He grimaced as he remembered the way he had addressed her and then left the room; it was considerably like his Father when _he_ was enraged.

Roald paused and peered out a window to see the sun. It was still relatively early; he might catch Shinko breaking her fast and be relieved of some of her inevitable wrath for leaving her alone all night.

Then again, he wasn't exactly in the mood for dealing with an irate Yamani just now. A night sleeping on a make-shift cot had done little to ease the general exhaustion that was beginning to seep into his body and mind and the conversation with "delicate little Annie" had not been what he was expecting, to say the least. Sometimes he forgot how his younger siblings had grown up while he was off earning his shield.

Regarding his wife, she would no doubt keep her true feelings inside, and treat him with an especially cold shoulder. He would rather she yelled at him as a Tortallan woman would be wont to do; it was so much easier to deal with. With the Yamani way of keeping everything hidden, he could never be utterly sure she felt how he thought she would feel.

_No_, he thought, _I will visit Shinko for lunch_. With that decision made, he quickly left the sun-bathed corridor for the offices. Work didn't finish itself, whatever else happened.

He had eaten in the healer's rooms that morning and was surprised to see the young, petite maid in his office as he entered. She jumped in surprise as he came in, beginning to unload the tray she had just finished loading.

'Forgive me, your Highness, please,' she said, keeping her eyes demurely down. 'I am sorry, I thought you had finished with your breakfast.'

Inside, he sighed. He couldn't understand why this young woman was always so skittish around him and he hated to think it was because of his status as royalty. He was too tired to deal with furious Princesses, but he was not too far gone to passon a little kindness.

He strode purposefully forward and placed delicate fingertips against her wrist. She nearly dropped the honey pot in her shock. Her eyes darted in fear up to his- they locked momentarily- and then she was gazing down at his hand, then blushing and looking to the floor.

'Please, don't be so scared,' Roald said softly.

'My l-lord, y-your Highness,' she stuttered, the tips of her ears flushing deliciously pink.

Roald took his hand away. 'I'm afraid I ate breakfast elsewhere today. I'm sorry, I should have sent a message to you, but it didn't cross my mind.' He walked around her, bodies very close, and seated himself at his desk. From there he smiled up at her. 'Please try not to be so afraid of me, my dear. I'm not going to hurt you at all and you won't lose your position by talking to me.'

The girl gulped and looked even more scared, her undistinguished grey-blue eyes bright and bulging. Roald stifled another sigh and tried again.

'What is your name?'

She gulped, swallowed, and- looking down again- replied softly, 'Nelle, your Highness.'

'Well, then, Nelle,' he continued amiably, 'thank you for bringing my breakfast anyway; I'm sorry that it's gone to waste.'

After a little hesitation, she quietly commented, 'It will not be wasted, your Highness.'

He smiled broadly and felt his tiredness kick in again. 'Good.' With a nod and a weary wave of his hand, he dismissed her, but as she was just leaving he remembered something.

'Oh, Nelle?'

'Yes, your Highness?'

'Could you have a message sent to my wife, please? I'd like to meet her for lunch today.'

Nelle nodded. 'Of course, your Highness.' The door clicked shut behind her and Roald was left alone, free from prying sisters, irate wives, and skittish maids. He settled down to his paperwork with the air of someone who knew where their place was.

---

Roald stared blankly at the note in his hand. He hadn't expected this, not at all. In fact, it had never crossed his mind that Shinko might not agree to meet him for lunch.

She had- apparently- "previous arrangements". He wondered if these arrangements had been in place for a long time, or if they were part of her cold shoulder performance after last night.

Well then, he would have to try something else. He didn't want her thinking that after six years he didn't _care_. Optimistic as always, he thought a simple explanation of why he had not returned last night would solve everything.

He scribbled a quick note and had it delivered to his parents. If they were not eating in state tonight, then he could easily arrange to have dinner privately with Shinko without the gossip tongues wagging too much.

The reply came back in the affirmative- Roald could have his private supper- and he set about with his own arrangements. It would be simple, but he hoped Shinko would appreciate the time together that she obviously wanted.

The evening gathered quicker than Roald liked and, gloriously attired in white and black, he knocked on Shinko's dressing room door. He hadn't told her about their private dinner, thinking she would then be given less chance to think of an excuse to back out of it and less time to contemplate tricksome ways to behave during the meal. Her maid opened the door and Roald smiled warmly.

'Is Shinko ready?'

Shinko looked up from her dressing table in surprise. 'Roald?'

'I've come to escort you to dinner, my dear.'

She blinked at him, her surprise- to Roald's pleasure- evident. 'Very well.' She was wearing a simple Tortallan style gown of amber satin, and she gathered the skirts in one hand as she moved around the room and located her fan with the other.

Reaching Roald, she ignored the arm he held out to her and said, 'Lead on.'

'This way,' he replied, pressing his hand to the small of her back to direct her in the opposite direction. Her eyebrows shot up, correctly guessing that they were not going to the main dining hall. He took her to the small room he'd had set up for the purpose. Like he'd requested, it was simple: a few candles, no musicians, no elaborate silverware or delicate lace tablecloth.

Shinko stopped when they entered the room and although the inevitable fan flicked up, Roald could see her eyes darting about, taking in the large wooden table, the high-backed chairs, and the two serving men standing by the only other door, ready and waiting. Roald walked past her and pulled her chair out, indicating for her to sit down. She did so, placing her fan on the table too. Roald took this as a good sign and took the seat at the head of the table, Shinko on his right hand side.

At a twitch of the Prince's fingers, the serving men brought forward the meal. Thick, warm soup was served with a pile of crusty bread and their glasses were filled with a deep red wine.

An easy sense of companionship settled; Roald didn't want to talk until the serving men had brought the main meal and left them. The soup was finished, the bowls whisked away and the lemon and thyme chicken placed before them. Roald's wine was topped up and bowls of vegetables placed between them. The Prince indicated that they would serve themselves, and the serving men left, placing the bottle of wine on the sideboard.

Shinko helped herself to the mint-and-butter potatoes, and Roald started on the carrots. He was trying to think of the best way to strike up a conversation (why was it he could deal with merchants and servants and diplomatic visitors perfectly fine but his wife always put him on edge?) when Shinko surprised him by getting there first.

'How is Lianne today?'

'Lianne-?' Roald frowned. 'Oh, she's well, I believe.'

'Why are you so surprised, Roald? You spent last night by her side; I knew you were worried for her.' Shinko placed a last spoonful of runner beans on her plate and relaxed in the chair. Roald watched as she began to eat, that serene face in place.

'And you're not cross?'

Shinko stopped and a little crease formed between her eyebrows. 'Cross?' she repeated. 'That you looked after your young sister? –No, of course I'm not. Well, it might have been nice for you to send me a message but I'm not going to create a huge fuss about something so small. Why, did you seriously think I was angry?'

Her eyes suddenly darted about the room again- this time taking on a veil of realisation. 'Oh.' Carefully she placed her knife and fork down, and folded her hands in her lap. 'You did this just because you thought I was _cross_?'

He cleared his throat. 'Shinko, you see-'

'Answer the question, Roald.'

He jumped at the firmness of her tone- so solid and cold- as he'd never heard it before, not in the six years he'd known her. Secretly he thought she'd picked it up off his mother.

'Yes.'

Silence fell. There was no point, Roald knew, trying to glaze over the truth and make it look pretty. So, he waited.

Finally Shinko picked up her fan. She pushed back her chair and stood, careful not to look at her husband. She began to walk towards the door.

'Shinko-'

She stopped, and turned, and filled him with another ice-filled gaze. 'Goodnight, Roald.'

'Shinko, don't you want to-'

She opened the door. 'I thought you had done this as a friendly gesture, not a way to win back my favour.'

The door shut behind her and Roald clenched his teeth tightly together. His eyes fell on the candles, the velvet curtains, the half-eaten food, the part-drunken wine.

He snatched up his wine glass and swallowed what liquor was left. The food was spoilt now and he pushed the plate away. He wasn't a man that normally indulged in a lot of alcohol but the knowledge that the decanter- nearly full- was on the sideboard just behind him was like an itch he couldn't scratch.

He shoved his chair back roughly and it scraped across the floor. His wine glass was immediately full again and, returning to the table, he placed the decanter by his right hand. Easily he settled back into his chair and sipped his drink, long legs stretched out in front of him.

Looking back now, Roald realised he had never stopped to wonder what Shinkokami _really_ felt about his night away. He had just _assumed_, and that was a bad habit for a man that would one day be King.

---


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: For the record, the Lianne in my story has spent most of her life in the Royal Palace in Corus. I don't think there would be the same pressure on her to marry for a peace treaty/alliance as there was with Kalasin, and with the realm at war, I don't think Jon and Thayet would be toobotheredabout her marriage at the moment._

**Chapter Seven.**

The Prince was back to his normal routine the next morning, after a few slight hiccups. He had, regrettably, woken half-slumped across the table, the decanter two-thirds empty still beside his elbow. The serving men must have crept in at some point and cleared the food away, for all that was in the room was himself, the wine, and a single lighted candle.

He chose to ignore it had happened, although the furry feeling in his mouth and the heavy thumping of his head that he always got after drinking too much, made his ignorance a hard game to play.

In his dressing room, Roald had indulged in an uncharacteristically long bath, with the hope it would soothe his headache and release the knots in his tense muscles. Putting his head back against the tub's rim, he didn't realise he had fallen asleep until he woke with a start.

A clattering noise had woken him; panicked, he looked for its source. His valet stood a few paces away, aghast. In his shock, he had dropped the shaving blades he had been carrying. He had never seen his Highness in the bath this long, let alone asleep in the semi-cold water.

'A towel, if you please, Western.'

The valet jumped into action at the Prince's clipped voice. He lunged for the nearby towel, holding it wide for Roald to step into.

From then on, Roald's morning had settled back to its usual procedure. He had shaved, dressed, and walked to the workrooms. Now he was waiting for Gary's ritual welcome while he started sorting through the papers.

There was a sigh from the doorway and Roald smiled to himself. There it was now.

'Roald…'

'Don't-'

'Yes, I know,' cut in Gareth. 'Don't lecture you. Aren't you _sick_ of this? I never put you down as an ink and scrolls man, you know. You're _young_, you should be outside doing whatever it is you young people do now.' The knight waved his hands around.

Roald smiled. 'Someone has to do the work, Uncle Gary. Now, no more persuading.'

Gary sighed. Every morning he tried a slightly different approach but he never seemed to get through that young man's head. If he wasn't the Prince he'd order him to mind his manners to his elders, and to do as he was told and scat.

'How was your dinner last night?' he asked. At Roald's surprised look, he explained, 'We ate with your parents last night.'

'It went perfectly well, thank you.' It didn't escape Gary's notice that the Prince was tense and ducked his head to his accounts as he spoke.

'She didn't say so, but I think Lianne would appreciate a visit today.'

'Thank you. I will try and see her this afternoon.'

With another sigh and a shake of his head, Sir Gareth left the Prince. As he left, Nelle entered, bearing the Prince's morning tray.

'Ah, Nelle,' he said with a welcoming sigh, rubbing his temple one-handed. She bobbed respectfully, her eyes- Roald noticed- still averted downwards.

'Your Highness.' She began her usual morning practice of moving the papers and putting the breakfast in its place.

Roald swiped the hot, buttered, jam-covered toast immediately, praying it would settle his body's reaction to last night's wine. He watched the young woman as she worked, thinking how small she was. He could probably circle her arm with his thumb and finger and they'd meet. Distractedly- licking the jam from his fingers- he wondered if she was married and how many children she had mothered already.

Roald's attention was suddenly caught by a green glass bottle about seven inches high that she placed behind his breakfast.

'What's that?' he asked with a frown. She flushed, clasping her hands together.

'It's medicine, your Highness.' He was about to demand a reason when she added, 'For your head.'

'Who told you to bring this to me?' Her eyes went wide.

'The c-c-cook, your Highness, the cook that always gives me your tray in the morning. I swear I didn't-'

He waved a hand at her and her rush of words stopped. As realisation sunk in, he covered his face with his hands.

The servants, last night. They had taken the food away and left the wine. By midday, it would be all over the palace how the heir to the throne had slept with a bottle of the finest by his hand.

He dismissed Nelle and once he was alone he downed a shot of the thick syrup. What else was there to do?

---

Princess Lianne was on her own when Roald entered, a book laying open on her lap as she stared out of the window. The sound of his boots made her look round and she smiled to see him.

'Roald! What a nice surprise!' She saw his eyes had turn hard upon seeing the sling she wore. 'Oh, it's nothing!' she said jovially. Twisting to put her feet on the floor, she patted the cushioned window seat next to her. 'Come sit with me.'

He started to protest then stopped, shook his head at himself, and slid into the gap she had made for him. 'Why are you on your own?'

Lianne gave him a crooked smile. 'I sent my friends off riding. Obviously-' she lifted her sling-protected arm- 'I can't go, but it's probably their last chance before the snow sets in for midwinter.'

Roald nodded his agreement. 'How are you feeling?'

Lianne pulled a face. 'It's okay. It doesn't hurt too much- well, it _aches_. But I have to keep _this_ on for a fortnight.'

'Two weeks? That seems a while.'

Lianne rolled her eyes. 'Baird said it's because of the cold weather. My body doesn't want to heal as quickly while it's freezing, or something. _And_ I have to do exercises with the shoulder.' She sighed.

'Never mind,' he replied, patting her hand comfortingly. 'Midwinter will be finished by then and it'll be the new year.'

'Great, that means I have to go to all the Midwinter parties with a _sling_ on.' Suddenly she perked up, remembering something. She sat straighter, and closed her book.

'How was last night?' asked Lianne tentatively. Roald clenched his jaw tight; was he to have _everyone_ remind him?

'Pleasant, thank you.' To his surprise, Lianne sent him an arch look she shouldn't have known how to do at her age.

'Why do I find that hard to believe?'

Roald looked to the ceiling, thinking of how much fun the Gods must be having tormenting him so. When she didn't get a reply, Lianne continued.

'Maybe it's because you and Shinko aren't getting on well?'

Mithros, if she was going to bring this up every time they spoke, he would stop seeing her.

Lianne sighed. 'Please don't block me out, Roald. I know I'm "only" sixteen, but it's just you and me now. There's no Kally- there hasn't been for _years_, and Liam's been in and out with his training, and I never know where Jasson is.'

'Lianne, I…'

She started to fold and refold and tug at her skirts as she continued, her voice quieter. 'I know it was always you and Kally. You even used to come and see her regularly when you were a page- until she went to live with Aunt.' She swallowed, _hard_, and Roald caught her trembling hands before she ruined her gown or over-stressed her injury. 'But if you want to talk to someone, Roald, I hope you know you can come to me.'

He could hear the truth behind that pleading: his little sister was lonely. He squeezed her hands. When he spoke, his voice was soft and sincere.

'Thank you, Lianne.'

He guided her hands back to her book and watched the cat across the room stretch languorously. He felt like doing the same, until every muscle in his body was loose. He was too tense.

'I've heard rumours, Roald.'

'Rumours?' He glanced across at her, only half interested. As he had once told Kally when she had been upset by malicious rumours, gossip was only slightly founded in truth and more often than not, that truth was insignificant.

'They say you're regretting your wedding, and avoiding your wife. That you're not sleeping with her.'

There were several heartbeats of silence. 'And do you- my sister- believe them?'

She shrugged. 'What am I to believe if you do not speak to me? If you are not seen in your wife's company?'

Roald made no comment and continued to watch the sleepy cat across the room.

'If you do not deny it?'

'She is my wife, and always will be. There is no question of that. What is there to regret?'

'So much, Roald,' she whispered. 'So much.' She watched him, watching the cat. 'Do not give yourself _more_ to regret.'

'You speak with far too much misguided wisdom, Annie. Slow down and enjoy your youth while you still can.'

'You're not old yourself.'

'You have no idea.' He stood. 'Now, enjoy the rest of your afternoon; I'd better be off.'

'Thank you for coming, Roald. It was a nice gesture.' She smiled warmly at him, as if they had not just had that conversation, and he smiled wanly back. Something about her words shook him… they were like a disturbed ghost. He struggled to make sense of it.

'Good afternoon, Lianne.' He left, shutting the door as she curled up on the window seat again, the book falling open in her lap.

_It was a nice gesture._

A nice gesture. Where had he heard that before, somewhere recently?

'How's your headache, _brother_?'

Roald turned. There was Jasson, hands on hips, a look both mocking and challenging on his young face.

'Good afternoon, Jasson.' Roald continued on his way. Annoyed at being ignored, the youngest prince dashed after Roald. Brandy barked and tumbled behind his master.

'Hey, Roald! Roald! How's the pretty princess? How's your head, Roald?'

Roald grit his teeth together and ignored his brother all the way to the clerics wing of the palace, where Jasson finally got bored and gave up. Roald sighed and watched the young troublemaker scamper off, Brandy barking at his heels.

_A nice gesture._

_Gesture._

Of course! Last night- before the wine- just before Shinko left. That's where he remembered it from.

_It was a nice gesture._

_I thought you had done this as a friendly gesture, not a way to win back my favour._

Well, if it was friendly gestures these women wanted, he could do that, easily. After all, he was the Prince- he had access to everything he could want.

But what would _Shinko_ want? A fancy meal to make up for last night's disaster? Gifts of beads and gold and pretty dresses?

His options were definitely narrowed at the moment, thanks to the season. He couldn't take her on a day trip, or a picnic, and even walking in the gardens was cold and icy.

Gardens. Flowers. He remembered how upset she had been when he inadvertently killed the violets Master Harailt's nephew had given her. The gardens might be bare of all but leafless twigs and evergreens, but there were the new heated gardens in the university.

Quickly he went into his office and pulled out a blank sheet of parchment, writing:

_Please arrange a bouquet of mixed flowers to be sent to me as soon as possible._

He signed the note officially and sent it to the university, hoping his request would be dealt with soon.

---

It was no use pretending any more. She might have married for duty, but she had developed strong feelings for Roald. She couldn't say she was entirely surprised; they had been together for nearly six years now.

Shinko stood by the window. The sky was the brittle blue of a clear winter's day but below she could see the people's breath appear before them. They continued with their jobs as best as they could, trying to ignore the biting cold. It would get colder yet.

Yes, she liked Roald a lot. Loved him as a companion and a friend. As a husband? –She wasn't sure. He hadn't been a very good husband so far.

She wished he would speak to her. That he would tell her what was going on. Oh yes, he said he was busy, he said he was working. But what was _really_ going on inside his mind? What was troubling him? What was he really feeling for her?

Oh, they might be married and there was no changing that, but she could still speculate on his feelings for her as any other woman did. He ignored her, he avoided her- and that _hurt_.

She hoped that he could come to terms with his issues and not create more problems for them, and for his family and country. But then again, this was _Roald_ and she knew that country and duty came first and foremost with him. He wouldn't let his own personal problems come in the way of duty and honour.

His coldness towards her came as a surprise; she had always been led to believe that he was open and friendly to everyone. She had never heard of him behaving like this, even to his close friends and family. Why did _she_ have to be different?

There was a knock on the door. She turned around, wetted her lips, smoothed her skirts down. Wondered who it was.

'Come in.'

It was Roald. Of course it was; who else would it be when she was thinking of him? He smiled.

'Good afternoon, Shinko.'

'Hello, Roald.'

He seemed a little awkward, and she wondered why. And then she saw the big bunch of flowers he held: a clever mix of roses, lilies, daisies, and various other blooms.

'Ah, these are for you, Shinko.' He came across the room, holding them out. _Why was he so awkward? _

'Thank you, Roald.' She took them from him, hesitated, and then smelt them.

'Do you like them?'

'They're very nice, Roald.'

'Very nice?'

'Yes, Roald. They're very pretty.'

She could see his jaw muscle flexing. He studied her intently, as if waiting for something more. What was he expecting? For her to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him passionately just because he had brought her some flowers? They were pretty flowers; they would have been gorgeous if she had known he had chosen them himself.

He sighed irritably. 'If you have nothing further to add, then I'll leave you.' He turned to go.

'You're not who you used to be, Roald.'

He stopped walking- but didn't turn to face her.

'I wish you could tell me about it.'

He carried on to the door. He opened it, and then paused to look at her. He looked away again. 'There's nothing to tell.'

He left. Shinko sighed and turned back to the window. One flower fell from the bouquet; she glanced back at it but made no move to pick the pink rose up. There was no sentimental value to the rose that had fallen on her floor.

And there was no excuse for Roald's taking her for granted.

---


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight.**

'Good morning, cousin,' said Faleron cheerfully as he strolled into Roald's office, hands in his pockets.

'I'm busy, Faleron.'

'I'm sure you are.' Faleron picked up a little china statue of a bird, examined it and then replaced it. 'I've come to make you an offer you can't refuse.'

Roald hesitated. Faleron wasn't one to play games- he had a no-nonsense head on his broad shoulders, a mind meant for politics and law. He understood that the Crown Prince had to work and work _hard_ and he wouldn't needlessly waste Roald's time.

'Yes?'

'In return for a small amount of your precious time, you do _me_ a favour, grant courage to an old friend, and we both win points in Gareth's good books: you for taking a break, and me for giving you the reason to.'

Roald watched his friend. Finally, 'I'm surprised by you: you don't make a very persuasive case.'

Faleron shrugged, picking up the bird ornament again. 'I don't have a lot to work with.'

'Who is this "old friend"?'

The knight grinned. 'As an appeal to your poor sense of curiosity, you'll only find out if you agree to my generous offer.'

Roald rolled his eyes. 'What does granting him some courage involve?'

'Just talking.'

'How long is "a small amount" of time?'

'That all depends.'

'On?'

'On how successful it goes. I would say an hour at the minimum should be sufficient.'

'I'd hardly call that "small".'

'Then we merely have varying perceptions, cousin. Do you agree?'

Roald sighed and stared out the window, contemplating. He burned to ask one other question but there was no way he could put it without getting an inquisition in return. After Lianne's talk of rumours yesterday he knew he was going to have to watch his step even more than he had been.

'So- who does this include? Just you, me, and this mysterious "old friend"?'

'Correct. Nobody else.'

An "old friend" wouldn't be his wife.

'Very well,' he said, standing. 'An hour.'

Faleron beamed. 'I knew you'd see it's for the best.'

'And you were the page with the best mind for politics? I've seen Scanrans with better persuasive skills than you.'

'Dear cousin, I've been practically _living_ among Scanrans for the past eighteen months. When you're living like barbarians it's rather hard to keep hold of the finer points of diplomacy.' Faleron led the way through the palace.

'Well you're obviously speaking from experience; I'll take your word for it.'

Faleron clapped his cousin on the shoulder, stopping before a door. 'Very wise of you, my prince.' He opened the door and gestured for Roald to go in.

'Is this some kind of poor jest? There's no-one here.'

'He'll be along shortly; give him a chance. Sit yourself down, have some juice, and _relax_.'

Rolling his eyes, Roald did as he was told and was presented with a glass of fruit juice and a plate of warm rolls. They sat in pleasant silence for nearly ten minutes, munching on the currant-filled bread. Roald's eyes began to droop. If he didn't keep himself active, the tiredness started to kick in.

The door opened and a young man jostled confidently in. Roald looked him over in surprise.

'Owen…'

The last time he had seen the "old friend" seemed like a lifetime ago. It had been that night at Fort Mastiff when Kel had been there, and Neal too. Owen had seemed altered then; now he was changed.

Gone was the look in his eyes of childish, unwavering enthusiasm for absolutely everything; gone was the undying, unconditional joy of anything- regardless of how dangerous it might be. Gone was the boy. This was a man. A man that had seen war, held the Kraken in the palm of his hand and fought her off with the blade of his sword, the knife of his bravery, the sharp edge of his determination. This was a man that knew the depths of mortality and the depths of human bravery, cowardice and terror.

The war seemed even to have quickened his features too: his round, young face had developed into a shapely jaw and well-defined cheekbones. He had added a few inches to his height and his shoulders fit his tunic better now.

The young man beamed. 'Roald!'

Well, perhaps he hadn't lost _all_ of his enthusiasm. Roald stood up to receive the hug Owen seemed determined to throw on him. Faleron was laughing.

'I met our young friend here arriving a short while ago, when I went down to see Starling. I thought it would be nice to get together for a short while.'

'How are you Roald? I've come back for my Ordeal. Can't say I'm entirely excited.'

Roald sat down again, feeling ten years older than his energetic friend. Owen helped himself to a mug of warm spiced cider, topping up Faleron's near-empty mug.

'Owen, I'd be worried if _anybody_ was excited about their Ordeal,' replied the Prince dryly. So _that_ was why Faleron felt this old friend needed courage. 'How are things up north? How is everyone holding up?'

'Oh, much the same.' Owen stretched his legs out, kicking his boots off. 'They all discuss in great depth all their wonderful plans and tactics and then invariably end up doing something completely different.' He shrugged. 'But there you go. As ever, the healers' tents are full, the supplies are thin and the men and horses alike are weary.

'But I don't want to talk about the _war_, I've done nothing _but_ talk about the war for as long as I can remember and this is my holiday. What have you been doing here?'

Faleron and Roald looked at each other and then looked back at Owen.

'Working for the war,' replied the Prince thinking that, perhaps, Owen hadn't matured _quite_ as much as he appeared to have.

'How grim. Isn't there any exciting news? It _is_ nearly Midwinter.'

Faleron made a face. 'My mother will be joining me by the end of the week for Midwinter and the young women it will bring; I hardly find _that_ "exciting".'

Owen laughed and even Roald had to chuckle. 'She's still valiantly struggling to marry you, eh? Why don't you just pick a girl and make them both happy?'

'Because, Owen, my mother will never be happy in so simple a way and I want to make sure I have a wife I can actually stand to live with.'

'But you're an easy-going guy, Fal. That should be easy for you,' replied the squire.

Faleron smiled a little. 'Even so, since I've got the element of choice I'd like for it to _be_ my choice. Just wait until _your _mother starts pestering _you_.'

Owen's cheeks coloured and he began to play with his mug; Faleron's eyes went wide as he sat up straighter in his chair.

'Owen, _what_ have you done to your mother?'

'Nothing!' he cried.

'Then what?'

'I rather think,' said Roald quietly, 'That our Owen will not have to endure his mother's "pestering", as you so delicately put it, Fal. I rather think Owen already has his eye on someone.'

Owen bit his lip, his expression a mix of consternation and excitement. 'Is it that obvious?'

Ignoring his question, Faleron demanded, 'Who is she?'

'Oh, she's _lovely_. Just wait until you meet her, Faleron, you'll-'

'Yes, but _who_ is she?'

'Oh.' Owen cleared his throat. 'Margarry of Cavall.'

Roald and Faleron gawped.

'_Wyldon's_ daughter?' demanded the latter. At Owen's nod, Faleron burst into laughter. 'That's too brilliant, Owen. _You-_ the Stump's son!'

'I know, won't it be jolly?' Owen was grinning and Roald had to smile back.

'Lord Wyldon is a fine man.'

'Oh, I know, Roald. And you should see Margarry: beautiful curls, beautiful breasts-'

Faleron howled with laughter again.

'-and she's got plenty of spirit, too. Not as stuffy as her Pa by half.'

'I'm happy for you, Owen,' Roald said. 'And I'm sure Faleron isn't trying to be rude.'

'Oh, that's fine,' smiled the younger man. 'I'm expecting it. Just wait 'til I tell Neal.'

'Oh, he'll _love_ it,' commented Faleron, having recovered from his mirth.

'Just- don't tell anyone yet, please?' Owen's face was anxious. 'Only I haven't even told _her_ I like her yet and I don't want the Stump to hear by gossip. I don't think he'd likely let me marry her then.' The others gave their word and Faleron refilled their mugs.

'Well,' he said as they settled back in their chairs once more. 'It seems I am to be the only one of us left single.'

'Just pick a girl and marry her, Fal,' said Owen again.

Faleron pulled a face. 'It's just…'

'You're the eldest son, Fal. You need some heirs.'

The older man scowled at Owen. 'I _know_ that. Just…' He sighed. 'Marriage seems so… _restricting_. I don't want to marry the wrong girl.' He took a long swig of his cider.

'Restricting? I think marriage would be _wonderful_.'

'You would,' replied Faleron glumly. 'You think _everything's_ wonderful.'

Owen made a face. 'No I don't. War, for one, isn't. Neither are grass snakes or apricot jam.'

'Grass snakes?' repeated Faleron, incredulously.

'Yes,' Owen replied with a shudder. 'Horrid things. But I would think marriage would be jolly. To wake up beside a special girl every morning and know that she's yours, and that she'll look after your home for you.'

'You're too idealistic, Owen. And you, Roald, are too quiet. You're married- tell us, what is it like? Is it all beds of roses and sunny skies as Owen thinks? Or am _I _right? Is it a disappointing restriction?'

Roald picked up his mug and watched the colours twist as he swirled the juice around. He had to watch what he said.

'I don't think I'm really the right person to be asking. I haven't been married for very long.'

'You've been married for six months, isn't that long enough to get a good impression?' demanded his cousin.

'I think, Faleron, that you should marry a lady that you like because, as you said, you will have to spend the rest of your lives together.'

Owen sniggered. 'Or you could just send her to Court, or spend your life travelling on your knightly duties.'

Faleron grimaced. 'Well, perhaps this year will be the magic year. Perhaps this Midwinter I will find that special lady and please mother.'

Striving to change the conversation, Roald asked, 'Will she be staying all of Midwinter?'

'Mother? -Yes, it's too risky for her to try and travel back once the weather sets in. She'll be bringing Tatty and Hann up, too.'

'I had wondered why they weren't here,' Roald replied.

Faleron grimaced. 'They're not best friends with someone else.'

'Ah.'

'Who are we talking about here, or is it secrets of the realm?' asked Owen.

'Tatty and Hann are my hounds.'

'And who is this special someone they don't get on with? Are you telling me that after this _whole_ conversation you're courting a lady and you didn't tell me?'

'No, Owen.' Faleron sighed. 'I have a new… pet, of sorts.'

Roald stepped in, wanting to make up for the bad decision he made in the past regarding Faleron's "pet". Wanted to help him out where he could. 'Faleron discovered an exotic animal that was being kept illegally. He recovered her and returned her to full health, but he needs must continue to look after her until the Wildmage can examine her.'

'Mithros, do you know who was keeping her? See Fal, exciting stuff _does_ happen to you!'

Faleron rolled his eyes and- once again ignoring Owen- turned to Roald. 'Try telling my Ma _that_. She wants Little Gem gone by the time she gets here, hence why she's bringing Tatty and Hann up.'

'What are you going to do?' asked Owen.

'Perhaps I can speak with the Menagerie Guardians,' offered Roald. 'Maybe I can have something arranged for you.'

'No, thank you, Roald. After the way they behaved when I spoke to them before about Little Gem, I don't like to trust them with her. At least, not until Daine has visited, which hopefully won't be too long now. Perhaps she'll come home for Midwinter. Until she does, I'd feel happier keeping Little Gem with me. Tatty and Hann will have to get on with her.'

'I'll look after them for you, if you like,' Owen suggested. 'My Lord taught me a lot about dogs.'

'Thank you,' said Faleron warmly.

Roald barely heard their exchange. His stomach burned with guilt. Faleron still thought the Wildmage was coming, coming to help. He didn't know the request had been rejected- by no-one other than Roald himself.

'Well,' said Owen cheerfully. 'I've enjoyed our chat.'

'Me too,' Faleron replied. 'We should get together again, sometime during Midwinter week to remember all our friends that are still stuck in the war.'

There was a moment of silence as the three remembered their time spent north- and their fellow knights still there. Kel, Neal, Merric- these and more were still battling away.

'I wonder what kind of festivities they'll even have,' commented Owen. 'My Lord suspects there will be a big attack on Midwinter Day when everyone's busy rejoicing.'

The others winced.

'How have the attacks been since I left?' asked Faleron.

Owen shrugged. 'Same as ever, really. We're holding our own, but you know what it's like. Even without the killing devices some of the wounds are horrific.'

An image flashed across Roald's eyelids: blood on white sheets, shrivelled flesh and damaged bone, haunted _terrified_ eyes.

'I know,' said Faleron quietly. 'In one of my last fights before I headed home, the soldier next to me took an arrow through the leg and was then stamped over by his own men advancing on the enemy. He couldn't move; he couldn't get out of their way.'

Roald's memory presented him with another picture; there were the white sheets again, and the haunted eyes, but this time the hands were raw and blackened, burnt by crude Mage fire. And in the background was the screaming. He shivered.

'My Lord Sir Raoul took an arrow in the shoulder,'continued Owen, both he and Faleron oblivious to Roald's discomfort.

'Poisoned?'

'Yes, and his sword arm too. He switched hands and fought on like some indestructible force, but by the end of the battle he was delirious.'

'Mithros, was he all right?'

'Yes, luckily. The healers were on him in a trice and Neal and his father were there too.'

'Thank Mithros for healers,' Faleron muttered.

'Although they often have the worst of it,' commented Roald suddenly.

'What?' asked his cousin.

'They are the ones who have to come behind you and fix you back up. They have to deal with all the after effects of war.'

'But the warriors,' said Owen, 'are the ones out there on the front line. _They_ are the ones that might die. They're the ones that have got to have the courage to face the enemy.'

'And the healers are the ones that have to watch the warriors go out there- their friends, their family- and know they may never see them again. They have to have the courage to let them go, and to be ready for the wounded. They have to have the courage to ease a dying man on his way to the Black Lord's realm and the courage to look at horrific wounds and tell the patient he's going to survive. They might die in trying to heal all the warriors, and they can't get out there and die honourably in battle.'

There was silence for a few moments as the others considered the Prince's words.

Finally, Faleron quietly replied, 'There is no less honour in dying while trying to save someone.'

'There is very little honour in dying by overreaching yourself for poor reasons.'

'What, healing a man is a poor reason?' demanded Owen.

Roald sighed. 'If healing a man that has little chance of survival causes you to overreach yourself to a fatal stage, then yes, it's a poor reason. It may seem harsh to not heal that one man, but that mage can then go on to heal more warriors with more likely chances of survival.'

Owen shook his head. 'Perhaps you are right. Us fighters, at least, don't have all these moral arguments to consider.'

Faleron snorted as he gulped down the last of his spiced cider. 'We just follow orders.'

Picking at the tabletop, Roald saw a world far removed from the little room in the palace. His voice was eerily quiet. 'Believe me, I've been on both sides. I've been the warrior and I've been the healer. The healers have it worst.'

---

All afternoon his thoughts were haunted by what that morning had stirred up. The war, the war. It was driving him crazy. He wanted to do something. He wanted to be there, fighting and healing and doing what he could for his country.

He hated sitting at this desk, doing paperwork.

'Roald, are you coming for dinner?'

The Prince glanced up at Gary. 'I'll catch you up,' he lied.

'Have you had a good day?'

Great, Uncle Gary was trying to make small talk with him again. 'Unproductive,' replied Roald.

'Oh yes, I saw you went off with King's Reach. No fun?'

Roald shrugged. 'Unproductive, really. One of our old friends has returned for his Ordeal; we were just catching up.'

'And that's unproductive?' Gary's eyebrows were arched. 'Don't lose your friends, Roald, for whatever reason.'

Roald sighed and said pointedly, 'I'll see you at dinner, Uncle?'

Gary grunted. 'I'll see you in ten minutes.' Roald watched until his uncle rounded the corner and was out of sight. He heard Gary welcoming someone: his wife. Lady Cythera had obviously coming looking for her book-bound husband, not wanting him to miss his meals.

_At least Shinko doesn't come looking for me,_ thought Roald. He had a lot of paperwork to get done and he wasn't hungry in the slightest. Skipping dinner would give him plenty of time to get through some of these piles, and still get to bed at a reasonable hour.

---

_Roald looked to his left: men, as far as his eye could see, on horseback and on foot, lined up ready for battle. Roald looked to his right: the same._

_He was sitting on his own horse, fully kitted out in plate armour. He was hot, despite the autumn chill. Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades, mocking him: you can't get me, you can't get me._

_Everything seemed oddly silent, even though he was aware of the raucous noise of thousands of soldiers. They were all waiting on the crest of the hill. Looking down into the valley below. The vantage point. Waiting. Waiting. _

_He almost felt detached from it all._

_Roald glanced over his shoulder: his standard bearer was there. The young boy smiled tremulously at him, but the flag he held was steady. Roald's gaze moved upwards. Blue. Bluer than the sky, bluer than the sea. That rich, _Royal_ blue. Silver crown, silver sword. His birth, his duty._

'_Better helm up, sir,' said the young boy. He smiled again and put his own helm on. Nodding, Roald closed the visor on his own helm, narrowing his field of sight to a mere slit._

_It began as soon as his visor slid into place._

_The horses charged down the hill; living thunder. The earth was tossed back into the faces of the foot men. _They_ ran valiantly behind, screeching their lungs out. _

_Roald found his sword was in his hand just as he needed it. They crashed with the enemy and his protective circle of guards was cut away. _

_Roald fought. Up with the blade, down with the blade, thrust with the blade. It was as simple as breathing in this state of mind. Still, he felt slightly detached. _

_And then the screaming began._

_The bodies began to fall around him. They reached for him- save me, save me! Their fingers clasped and slipped. Their eyes, staring up from their helms; their eyes were terror-filled._

_Roald began to sweat more. Fear-sweat. The screaming rang in his ears. He couldn't see the enemy, only the dying. His eyes locked with theirs as the gormless bodies fell to the muddy earth._

_And then the helms were gone and the bodies were falling with full faces exposed. Now he could see the terror in every line in the face, in the mouth as well as the eyes. He could see the screams as well as hear them. _

_And now as they fell back, they fell not onto the red-brown earth but onto the crisp white sheets of the healers' beds. _

_Roald panted, heavy and hot in his armour. Still clinging tightly to his sword; it would save him. Around him the bodies continued to fall, even though he could no longer see the enemy. They fell on to the white sheets, screaming and writhing, empty eyes staring at him._

_And now they were dressed all in white and the armour was all gone._

_And now they were not so definitely male. This one looked female- but the white gown was too baggy to tell for sure._

_Roald pivoted and another fell. He couldn't help but peer at it. The face was pale and the eyes were dark. He frowned. Was it a woman? He couldn't say. The skin looked too soft for a man's and the eyelashes too long, but the cheekbones were high and sharp. He stepped closer, gazing, wondering. He was filled with horror at the thought that the wounded body might not be male._

_Something thudded into the back of his legs. He fell. Dropped his sword. He had to find it, it was his lifeline. Scrambling around on the floor, he couldn't find it. Finally gave up, turning on his knees, heart thumping. _

_He suddenly realised he was back on the battlefield and the noise and the blood and the gore reverberated around him. The screaming- which had momentarily abated- rung in his ears once again._

_He clambered on his hands and knees to the body that had fallen into him. It was the young standard bearer; Roald knew that even though the boy lay on his front. The flag- ripped from its pole- was wrapped around the armoured arm._

_As if he was wounded himself, Roald laboured to pull the boy onto his back. The fighting crashed on above his head. The screaming continued._

_With the boy's head half in his lap, Roald pulled off the helm. _

_Black hair flowed over his lap like water. Pale skin was even paler with death. Almond eyes stared vacantly up at the sky._

_The screaming reached a high, tremulous pitch._

_Roald found he couldn't breath and his numb fingers ran over and over his breastplate. But there were no buckles, no points. The armour fit seamlessly onto his body. He couldn't take it off. And he couldn't take his eyes from the face of his dead wife, her body in the standard bearer's armour._

_And then- although he'd been watching her continuously and had seen no change- he suddenly realised she was not Shinko any more. Now the black hair had a slight curl to it, the skin was rosier, the eyes were shut._

_Kalasin._

_He couldn't control the sob that wrenched from his mouth. Dear Kalasin. Her perfect skin was spoilt with the bloodstains. He realised she held something; in her arms was a dead baby girl. Her child._

_The battlefield went hazy; the world span. He fought again to remove his armour so that he could breathe properly; his fingers skated over the perfectly shaped metal._

_And when he could focus again Kalasin was both Thayet and Jon at the same time: his parents. That one, united, invincible icon. But they quickly faded and left Lianne in their place. _

_Her young blue eyes stared at him. Accused him. Her hair was shorter than Kalasin's, but as straight as Shinko's. Her skin wasn't as dark as her mother's. And now she was dead. She had never known love; she had never been given a chance to live. She was too young to die._

_He gathered the body in his arms, rocking. The screaming was still there, but he was almost used to it now, however high-pitched it was. _

_This was what war did: it killed families, it destroyed lives. Mothers and wives and babies. _

_He was back in the healer's wing and the body was gone from his arms. The armour was gone from his body. The screaming was gone._

_It was replaced by constant yelling._

'_Your Highness, please, help me!'_

'_Help me, Highness!'_

'_The pain, the pain! I need someone- something!'_

'_My leg! Highness, my leg!'_

_He turned on the spot. He was surrounded by beds, all filled with patients. Everyone was crying out for his attention; everyone was dying and he was the only healer._

_Beneath their insistent shouts was a continuous slow call, like the sea or a persistent bird:_

'_Roald, Roald, Roald, Roald, Roald, Roald…'_

_It was a soft voice. A woman's voice. It was Shinko's voice- no, it was Kally's. Or was it was Thayet's? _

_They were calling him again- the patients. They were beginning to scream. He had to stop the screaming, he couldn't stand their screaming. _

_He rushed to the first bed, looking for injuries. But he could see nothing wrong. And as he looked up to the face, he was sucked in by the eyes- how often he had seen those eyes. They were haunted, they were terrified; they were regretting everything. _

_The screaming was growing again. He had to stop it but the eyes… He couldn't move away. His knees buckled. He was hopeless, he couldn't do anything…_

'_Roald!'_

_That wasn't the slow bird-voice. That was a demanding plea. He looked around: where had it come from?_

'_Roald! _Roald!_'_

_The ground was shaking and he was caught by those eyes again, that terror. The body was in his arms: was it his wife, his sister? He couldn't see. Couldn't breathe._

'_Roald!'_

_The ground was shaking so hard- was it an earthquake? _

_No, the ground wasn't shaking, _he_ was._

Roald jerked awake, gasping, writhing. He felt warmth beside him and grabbed onto flesh. It was Shinkokami. He pulled her tight to him, shaking still, even though she had stopped trying to wake him.

She was trembling too. She ran fingers across his chest- the only part of him she could reach while he held her so tightly- and tried her best to calm him.

'Ssh, ssh,' she whispered. 'It's okay, you're safe now. It was just a bad dream.'

He continued to gasp and to shake and to mumble to himself. She tried desperately to work out what he was saying, but he was incoherent. Wiggling her arms free, she wrapped them around him, using one hand to stroke his hair. Later, she would relish the feel of their bodies so tight together, so wonderfully entwined, but for now he was a frightened child that needed comfort.

'Whatever it was, it's gone now.' Shinko wished she had the Gift to soothe him, or even to light some candles while she held him. Light had always dispelled her demons when she had bad dreams as a young girl. 'I'm here, and everything's going to be fine. It was just a dream, nothing more. It wasn't real. It's all gone now, my prince.'

There was a damp sensation on her shoulder where Roald had buried his head, and the wetness ran down over her chest. Roald was crying. Shinko felt icy cold. Roald- _her_ _Roald_- was cryingover a bad dream.

'No,' he whispered, his voice hoarse and cracking. 'No it isn't.'

The nightmares were back. And this one had been worse than they had ever been before.

---

_-_

_A/N: By "Midwinter Day" I'm referring to the fourth day of the Midwinter Festivities, after the longest night, when they exchange presents. As far as I'm aware, there is no specific name to this day but they must call it something. They wouldn't refer to it as "you know, the day we give presents". If anyone knows the correct name for this day, please let me know._


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine. **

The sun stretched her golden fingers, dispelling the night, and sending streams of pale warmth in every direction. She peeked through the corner of a window where the curtain had not been pulled back properly. Lazily, she curled about the black strands of hair lying against the white pillow and danced upon the snowy skin of the delicate face of the woman lying there.

Slowly, the sun's early tendrils woke the woman and for a moment she lay still, letting the light bathe her gently. Then with a little sigh, Shinko rolled over.

The bed next to her was empty.

She sat up on her elbows, frowning. After last night's interruption, she had expected Roald to still be abed, but there was no sign of him.

She sighed. She supposed she shouldn't expect Roald to change because of a bad dream. This was _Roald_ after all, and he prided himself on staying the same regardless of what happened.

The door peeked open and one of her handmaids slipped into the room. Shinko had two personal maids that helped look after her: one from her native Isles, and one from her new home. Surprisingly, the two young women got on wonderfully well; they exchanged stories, methods and hints with ease.

The girl that entered now was Ahnie, her Tortallan maid. She smiled to see her lady awake and crossed the room to open the curtains.

''Tis a lovely day, my lady,' she said. 'Albeit freezing.'

'Ahnie, do you know where my prince is?'

'I believe he rose as usual, my lady,' she replied. 'But I can find out if you wish.'

'No, no, that's quite all right, thank you.' Shinko pushed back the covers and shivered a little as the full cold of the room hit her. Ahnie rushed forward with a warm over robe and placed it gently on my lady's shoulders.

'Your bath is ready, my lady, if it pleases you.'

'It pleases me greatly, Ahnie,' Shinko teased. 'And it had better be hot!'

Ahnie returned the smile. 'Indeed, my lady.' They went through into Shinko's private bathing and dressing room. A black-haired, pale-skinned young maid was just checking the temperature of the bathwater as they entered.

'Good morning, Noemi,' greeted Shinko.

'Good morning, my lady,' replied the Yamani, bowing with her palms pressed flat to her thighs.

'What dress shall I prepare for you today, my lady?' asked Ahnie as Noemi took the fur-lined over robe and started to undo the points of Shinko's nightgown.

'My green kimono, I think,' replied Shinko.

'The one with the dragonfly print?'

'No, no; the pale green one.' She pulled the nightgown off.

'Very well, my lady.'

Shinko slipped into the bath while Ahnie disappeared into Shinko's walk-in wardrobe. Noemi began to soak the Princess's long hair, careful not to get the hot water in my lady's eyes.

Shinko relaxed against the back of the bath, closing her eyes. She was tired from comforting Roald last night. She pondered on Roald's nightmare, wondering what it had been about. He had had a few nightmares when they had first married, but they had never talked about what he saw and he had never had such a violent reaction to them. The night horrors had soon stopped, and she had forgotten about them.

Noemi began to massage soap into Shinko's hair, and the Princess sighed in pleasure, feeling all her body relax as the maid's fingers worked on her scalp. _Roald could do with this treatment_, she thought. She really hoped Roald was well today; she knew how tired he must be after his ruined sleep.

She worried about him, and she didn't know what to do about it. Who was there to turn to? Who could she talk to about the Crown Prince's health? She wished Yuki was here, but she was still north with Sir Neal.

Noemi had finished soaping her hair and passed the bar to Shinkokami. Distracted- her thoughts still on her husband- the Princess ran the lavender-smelling bar over her skin. Her maid rinsed the soapsuds out of her hair as Ahnie bustled in, her arms full of clothes.

While Ahnie laid out the green and cream kimono, the underclothes, and the warm stockings, Noemi rinsed the Princess's hair with rose water to fragrance it. Then Shinko climbed out of the bath into the large towel Ahnie held ready.

She was dried and dressed, one maid dealing with her body as the other took control of her hair. The latter was braided into two thick plaits, with green ribbon running through. Once her lips were rouged, her neck dabbed with rose water, jewels hung from her ears, and fur-lined slippers placed on her feet, Shinkokami felt ready to face the day. Well, nearly. She just needed to satisfy her stomach first.

Thanking her maids, she left her set of rooms, and headed to the mess halls for breakfast. The doormen bowed as she entered the first hall; she nodded and smiled at them, crossing the room to the High Table.

It was a small room, where important members of court could eat in state if they so wished. It was a way Jon and Thayet could prevent angry arguments about their general lack of grand banquets. Shinkokami understood the monarch's policies to dining, but found it a little hard to adjust to. As a Princess, she had been used to being waited on at home. Now, if she was eating alone, she often came here, where she could be served and eat in silence, as if she was still in the Isles.

As soon as she had sat down, a bowl of hot porridge was placed before her. There were already little dishes of honey, syrup, sugar and jugs of milk on the table and Shinko helped herself to a little milk. She didn't have to ask for her drink; the men here knew that every morning she had the tea sent specially from her mother.

Shinko had barely started on her breakfast when a friendly voice interrupted her quiet contemplations.

'May I join you for a short while, your Highness?'

She looked up to see Sir Faleron of King's Reach towering above her, a tray in hand. Nodding, she gestured to the seat beside her. Although she _did_ like to eat by herself in the mornings, she was not prepared to be rude. Not only was he a friend and cousin to her husband, he was also a knight and would one day serve under her.

'May I help you, Sir Faleron?'

'Not at all,' he said smiling, as he sat down. 'I only wished to chat with you for a few moments.'

'Very well, what would you like to speak of?'

He shrugged and waved a hand as if to say it was of little importance. 'How are you finding Tortall now you are a married woman? Is it any different?'

She chose her words carefully, wondering if he had an ulterior motive. 'It is just as pleasing as before, Sir.'

'Good.' He smiled. 'More so, I should hope, now that you are finally settled.'

_Yes_, she thought_, you would think that, would you not?_ She bowed her head in silent acceptance of his words and continued eating her porridge.

After a few minutes of silent eating, Faleron said, 'I hope Roald makes you happy, Princess.' His words were so sincere that she looked up, wondering if her husband had confided in Sir Faleron. Her eyes met his, and she saw warmth and friendship and a touch of concern.

She looked away. 'Thank you, Sir. I endeavour to do the same for him, as is my duty.'

He smiled again, a slightly wicked look coming into his eyes. 'A word of advice, Princess, if you do not think it too presumptuous of me: Do not get too hung up about duty with Roald. The Prince has enough of that already to last him several lifetimes- he does not need any in the little private life he has. Do right by him, of course, but I hope at least some it comes from yourself.'

Shinko's expression was sharp as she took in Sir Faleron. _What had Roald told him?_ Oh, she was sorely tempted to ask.

'I am very fond of my husband.'

'Good,' he replied. 'He is very fond of you.'

She had to look down; her breakfast swam in front of her. She couldn't let this knight see she was close to crying.

Luckily, she was saved from replying to Faleron's words. From the corner of her eye she saw him stand, bow, and bid his farewells. As she watched him leave the hall, she wondered briefly if she should have confided in him.

She took a shaky breath. Everything was becoming too much. She was so concerned about Roald. She pushed her porridge away; her stomach was sick with worry.

As Shinko left the hall, she pondered why Sir Faleron had been eating his breakfast there. It was a rare sight to see a young knight voluntarily eating in state. Had he been waiting for her? Had Roald asked him to keep an eye on her? She promised herself to ask Sir Faleron next time they met, however inappropriate it may seem.

---

In… out. In, out. In, out.

Shinko's delicate fingers pulled the little needle easily through the material. In, out; it was a rhythmic motion that soothed her frayed nerves and eased her tired mind.

The Princess sat in the Gallery. It was a long thin room, decorated with glorious paintings commissioned over the years by the various rulers of Tortall. Gentle music came to her from the other end of the room and the quiet hum of talk was lulling.

She sat in a cushioned window seat for the light, as did many other sewing ladies. Some ladies were walking the length of the room as a poor form of exercise; it was snowing outside. As Shinko looked up she realised one of these ladies was approaching her. She smiled at Lady Reana and continued sewing.

'Good afternoon, your Highness.'

'Good afternoon, Lady Reana. Won't you sit down?'

'Thank you.' Lady Reana settled next to Shinko, glancing at the latter's embroidery. 'You've made a few mistakes, Shinko; that's unlike you. Is something wrong?'

'Not at all. Tell me how you have been.' Shinko kept her face down, concentrating on her sewing.

'Oh, nothing new I'm afraid. I _am_ enjoying being back at Court, even if _he_ isn't here anymore…' She sighed.

Shinko didn't have to ask who "he" was, she knew her friend was referring to Sir Neal. Regardless of his engagement, she still couldn't put him out of her mind. Shinko glanced up at her companion through her eyelashes.

Lady Reana's voluminous red curls were loose around her face and her blue eyes were bright against her pale skin. Those eyes seemed dazed and dreamy at the moment, and Shinko could easily guess why. She tried to change the conversation.

'There are still the Midwinter Festivities to look forward to.' _As much as you can enjoy such things while your realm is still at war,_ she added silently.

'Yes,' replied Reana with a sigh. 'But who shall I strive to catch beneath the mistletoe now?'

Shinko tried to keep her smile to herself. 'I am sure you will find _somebody_.'

'And are you going to catch Roald beneath the mistletoe?' Reana asked wickedly. 'Or do you have someone else in mind?'

The Princess's eyes darted up, shocked by her friend's accusation. 'I would _never _do that!'

Reana laughed. 'I was only jesting! Great Mother, I know you wouldn't even think of it! You're far too stiff still, Shinko; most married women have affairs.'

Shinko hissed at her to keep her voice low and said, 'I am not most women.'

Reana sighed. 'No, I guess not. I suppose there are _some_ disadvantages to being Royal then.' She fixed Shinko with a shrewd look. 'You're not in love with him, are you? That would just be too much.'

Shinko kept her eyes fixed on her sewing, her heart fluttering within her breast. Some time ago she would have refused that very idea, but now she was all too aware it was true. She loved him- she had loved him for a while- and it wasn't going to change any time soon, however much he currently irritated her with his secrecy.

'Would it,' she said, 'be so surprising if I had come to love him in some way after we have been together so long?'

Reana shrugged, her shoulders tensing. 'Can you grow to love someone just because you are bound to them? I think not. Love is passion and- and _irrational _and beautiful. It doesn't just _grow_.'

Shinko made no reply. She knew her friend was bitter after Sir Neal had announced his betrothal and that her attitude towards love and romance was no longer as positive as it once had been. Lady Reana sighed, and they lapsed into silence for some time.

Finally, her voice a whisper, Shinko said, 'I'm worried about him, Reana.'

'Who, Roald?' Reana shifted closer, pretending to inspect the Princess's embroidery.

'Yes.'

'What's wrong? Has he – said something?'

'No, that's exactly the problem. He won't talk to me.'

'Still?'

'Still. I don't know what to do.'

Reana paused, hesitant to ask a Princess such an intimate question. But there was nothing for it. Her voice steady, she asked tentatively, 'Is your marriage falling apart?'

To her surprise, Shinkokami responded with a harsh laugh. She looked up for the first time during the conversation, meeting Reana's eyes.

'Falling apart? Our – _marriage_ never got started.'

Reana blinked, stupefied into silence. Finally, 'Did- did you never consummate it?'

'Yes, of course.' Shinko's tone was scalding.

'Then…'

Shinko waved a hand. 'Forget it, Reana.' Striving to alter the conversation, she continued, 'He had a nightmare last night.'

'A nightmare? Well, that's nothing too disastrous, surely.'

'I'm not so sure.' The Yamani's voice and temper were cooling as the sudden bolt of her anger passed. 'It seemed so violent… In truth, his reaction scared me and I do not even know what the dream was about.'

'Would he not tell you?'

Shinko shrugged. 'He spoke gibberish.' Her eyes scanned the long room and noticed Princess Lianne- her arm in a sling- strolling the Gallery with her mother. 'He had left this morning before I could ask him about it.'

Shinko watched as Princess Lianne stood on tiptoe to press a kiss to her mother's cheek before making her way towards her sister-in-law. Shinko bowed her head again, her next words hurried and firm.

'Do not breathe a word of this, Reana. I do not wish Roald's family to hear of this if not from him- especially not his sister. Do you understand me?'

'Of course, your Highness.'

'Good afternoon, Shinko!'

'Good afternoon, Princess Lianne. You seem happy today.' Shinko smiled prettily.

'Yes, I am. Hello, Lady Reana.'

Lady Reana stood and curtsied. 'Good morning, your Highness.'

Lianne pulled over a chair with her good arm and sat down. 'Sit with us, Reana.' The lady did as she was told, taking back her position on the window seat. 'How are you, Shinko?'

'I am well, thank you, Lianne. And what of yourself? Why is it you are so happy?'

Anne shrugged. 'I like winter, and my arm has stopped throbbing now.'

'That's good.'

'Yes.' Lianne leant forward to put her hand on her sister's arm. 'I wanted to thank you, Shinko. I hear you helped a great deal when…' she gestured at her sling, 'it happened. So, thank you.'

Shinko blinked. 'There's no need to thank me, Lianne. I'm just glad I was passing at the time.'

'Well, thank you anyway.' Lianne pulled back, letting the older Princess return to her sewing. 'How's Roald this morning?'

Shinko tensed. _What did she know?_ 'I believe he is well.' She wasn't about to tell Lianne she hadn't seen him yet today!

'Oh, good. He seemed a little… tense when he came to visit me the other day.'

'Yes, I think…' Shinko hesitated, unsure of how much to say to the younger girl. She changed her mind, last minute. 'I think he is just tired.'

Lianne looked sceptical. 'Just tired? I think he's overworking himself.'

Shinko's eyes snapped up. Perhaps she should give Lianne more credit. 'I have often thought that myself too, but… but he will not stop.'

'No,' said Lianne. 'Uncle Gary said Roald's _always_ working.'

'Lianne, I…'

'Yes?'

Shinko bit her lip and glanced across at Lady Reana. Reana was the only one she had confided in at all about Roald- and even what she had told _her_ was minimal; now, her friend nodded.

'I worry about Roald,' rejoined Shinko, her voice a strained whisper.

'Me too. He'll make himself ill if he's not careful.'

Shinko's chest tightened, remembering last night. No, she couldn't bring herself to tell Lianne _that_ much.

'Well, this looks like a cheerful little party,' said a new voice. Shinko jumped and looked up into the Queen's hazel eyes. 'Can anyone join, or is it invitation only?'

'Oh, please join us, your Majesty,' cried Lady Reana, leaping up. 'Here, take my seat.'

Thayet smiled. 'Thank you. It's Lady Reana of Heathercove, isn't it? You must forgive me; with everything going on I've not had much time with my Court recently.' She settled next to her daughter-in-law and Reana made her excuses and left the Royal women, sashaying away in a rustle of pink silk.

Shinko's poor nerves were on edge throughout the whole of the conversation with Thayet. She was very fond of her mother-in-law, but today she was too worried about Roald to make small talk. His nightmare had erased all of her annoyance with him; now, she felt nothing but concern.

Roald had suffered with the occasional nightmare when he had returned from the war for their wedding, but he had always been embarrassed about them. Never before had he reacted so strongly to them, or sought comfort from her. The scenes from last night haunted her, the jumbled words he muttered running in circles through her mind.

The conversation, therefore, was rather stilted. Thayet and Lianne chatted most of the time, and neither thought anything much of the Yamani woman's silence. They had no idea she felt she was deceiving the Queen by not making her known of Roald's suffering.

Matters were only made worse when Roald himself entered the Gallery to visit his mother and sister. Seeing the three women seated together, he instantly made his way towards them.

Shinko tried desperately to keep her face calm. Apart from looking a touch pale and having those permanent bags beneath his eyes, Roald looked no worse for last night's experience. Perhaps, then, it had not been as bad as it seemed? Perhaps he didn't even remember it.

'Good afternoon Mother, Lianne, Shinko.' Roald bent to kiss their cheeks. Shinko's heart fluttered when he voluntarily pressed his lips to her skin; had his lips lingered a little longer than they should have?

'Hello, my son. Has Gary let you escape?'

Roald smiled at his mother's teasing and inquired after his sister's arm. While they chatted, Shinko gave all her attention over to her embroidery, keeping her from having to talk.

In her agitation, her fine needle slipped from her fingers. Her heart sank; these needles were terrible to find once dropped.

To her surprise, a rough-skinned hand came into her sight. The fingers picked something off the edge of her skirt; she looked up into Roald's tired blue eyes. She was held there a moment- and then she realised he was pressing her hand with his. The needle.

'Thank you, Roald,' she said, her voice quiet. She quickly hid the shaking of her hands beneath her embroidery.

He smiled, but his words were barely audible. 'No, Shinko, thank _you_.' He straightened and gave his mother and Lianne a big smile. 'I'm afraid I must go now.'

'Don't let Gary bully you,' teased Thayet. Roald smiled, and then he was moving away.

'Bye Roald!' called Lianne.

Shinko watched him go, confused and trembling. Thank you? Thank you for what? For last night, for comforting him with his nightmares? Surely not!

'Roald's such a dear boy,' said Thayet quietly, lost in her own thoughts. Shinko smiled and nodded and tried not to feel guilty for not confiding in her mother-in-law. Looking after Roald was her only duty here in Tortall, and she didn't want to have to admit to her betters that she had failed in that one small job.

---

That night, Shinko was sure she'd see Roald. She was certain he'd want to speak after what he had done that afternoon.

But he didn't turn up to dinner and although she waited up for as long as she could, she ended up going to bed alone yet again.

---


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten.**

The second course was nearly finished now, and still there was no sign of Roald. Shinko sighed. This was the third night in a row he'd missed dinner. He was going to make himself ill.

Catching the eye of a waiting maid, Shinko beckoned her over to discreetly pass on an order. The maid listened attentively, nodded, curtsied and went to do the Princess's bidding.

---

At the knock on his office door, Roald looked up in surprise. 'Come in,' he called, turning to the window. It was pitch black outside and he could just make out the whispering twinkles of some of the stars.

The door opened to reveal a young maid carrying a tray. She curtsied a little wobbly, straining not to spill a drop of her precious cargo.

'What's this?' Roald asked.

'Dinner, your Highness,' she replied. 'From her Highness, the Princess Shinkokami.'

Controlling his expression carefully, he indicated for her to use the side table. He didn't speak because he was gritting his teeth together tightly. Trust Shinko to start getting involved! He knew she was only trying to do her duty, but he didn't need a nosy busybody for a wife! Next thing he knew, she'd be coming along to his office to check up on him or drag him to meals proper.

He watched the maid move about. She was short, but rather plump. Her dirty-blonde hair was restrained beneath a mob cap, and her ruddy cheeks shone in the light from the fire. She moved without grace, huffing and puffing in her work.

_Nelle would never make so much noise._

Roald blinked, his insides growing cold. He _hadn't_ just thought that. He swallowed. Oh yes, he was _certainly_ thinking of Nelle.

She had visited him this morning, bringing him his breakfast tray as usual. He had watched her move through his office, thinking how elegant she was- as elegant as his Yamani Princess, really. She was just as quiet as she ever was, but there was something different about her- something in the way she walked, or held herself, that said she had a new confidence.

'Good morning, Nelle,' he had said.

'Good morning, Your Highness.' She had curtsied, and the tray hadn't wobbled at all in her hands. He was so used to her shy behaviour, that at first he thought he imagined the glance she snuck his way. Soon, however, he had realised that was definitely _not_ his imagination.

She was such a pretty little thing, really. Roald had watched her, unable to keep his eyes from her form, wondering how her hair would feel in his hands.

Roald would _never_ be unfaithful to his wife; that went against tradition and duty. Yet he couldn't ignore he had felt a strong urge to take that trim figure in his hands and kiss those little lips soundly.

Even now, hours later, he could still feel that fiery longing in the pit of his stomach.

'Will that be all, my lord?'

The coarse voice of the plump maid jolted Roald back. Evening; it was evening, and Nelle was far away.

'Yes, yes, that's everything,' Roald rushed. He could feel his cheeks hot from his thoughts, as if he had been caught in the act itself. He was a married man- a married _Prince_; he should not be dreaming of other women.

The maid curtsied her way out of the office and Roald was left alone again. He banished the traitorous thought of that sultry temptress Nelle from his mind, and looked instead across at the meal Shinko had sent up for him. He could smell it already and his face wrinkled in disgust. He was not hungry.

Leaving the sumptuous meal to grow cold, he turned back to his work. The candle burned low as he read and wrote and did various calculations. The scribbled words and precise numbers were beginning to swim before his eyes when the candle flame spluttered and went out.

Roald rubbed his eyes with a sigh, and then watched the wispy curl of smoke coil upwards, lit by the vague light from the window. It eventually disintegrated into the darkness of his office. Even the fire in the heath had died, leaving the room chilly.

Roald shivered a little and pushed his chair back from the desk. Time to go to bed; he was _exhausted_. As he moved he stubbed his toe on the desk leg and it went straight through his thin indoor-boots. Stifling a cry, he muttered curses under his breath instead and stumbled the rest of the way out of the dark room.

The corridors were lit by the large windows and the torches in sconces along the walls. When he reached the Private Royal Wing however, the torches were unlit.

Roald tried to call a globe of his light into his hand, but his Gift was unresponsive. His mind was like a string pulled too tight beginning to fray at the ends, and he couldn't concentrate enough- and didn't have enough energy- to summon up his magic. So he continued stumbling along in the dark.

He groped for the handle of the door and the wood moved beneath his hands, swinging open to reveal his room warmed by the fire. He blinked; he had expected it to be dark and cold in here too.

Shinko was sitting by the fire, a book in her hand. She rose as soon as she saw him. 'I've been waiting for you. How was your day?'

Roald crossed the room to lay his sheath of papers on a desk. He didn't even remember picking them up. He couldn't see the flowers he had brought Shinko a few days ago anywhere.

'Well enough,' he replied. 'And yours?'

Shinko shrugged. 'I missed you at dinner.'

Roald looked away. In a rush, Shinko was by his side, tentatively laying a hand on his arm.

'Roald, _please_, talk to me. What is wrong?'

'Nothing is wrong, Shinko.'

'_Something_ is not right. Roald, you are not yourself.' He did not reply. 'What was your nightmare about, Roald?'

He shook his arm away, turned his back to her. Shinko forced to swallow the lump in her throat.

'_Please_ Roald, tell me about it.'

'I… can't.' His voice was a whisper, and he left her standing by the fire and went into their bedroom. Shinko sighed and tossed down the book she was holding. It slipped off the chair, falling onto the floor with a _thud_. The shadows from the flames flickered across its cover as it lay in front of the fire, but she left it there to follow her husband into their bedroom.

To her surprise, Roald was standing by the window, still fully dressed. After a pause, she went to his side. There was nothing particularly interesting that she could see- nothing that might have caught his attention so; only the moonlight.

Finally he sighed and pulled the drapes closed. Steeling herself, Shinko pressed her palms against his chest. He looked into her eyes in mild surprise.

'Roald, I-'

'Don't ask me again,' he whispered, and moved away from her hands. Standing near the bed, he began to undress. He pulled off his dark blue tunic, throwing it across the patchwork quilt, and began to undo the ties on his cream loose-fitting shirt.

He was shocked when Shinko crossed the room and gently pushed his hands away. Her nimble fingers had the ties undone in seconds and she pulled the shirt over his head. She kept hold of the material as he stood there before her in just his breeches.

Shinko swallowed, all of a sudden feeling like a young innocent. She lightly touched one hand to the warm skin of his chest, loving the thrill the connection gave her.

Her hand moved up, skimming over the fading bruise on his shoulder, over his neck and into his hair. Warily, her fingers twined in his dark curls.

He was breathing heavily, his eyes focused on her face. A hand found itself to her waist; fingers ran light circles on her hip through her kimono.

Leaning up, she pressed her lips to his. It felt good- and even better when he responded, pulling her close. The hand on her hip slipped into the small of her back. His other hand was in her hair.

The kiss deepened, and he reached for her other arm, wrapping it around him. He yanked the shirt from her hand and his fingers brushed against something on her wrist— he pulled away.

Taking deep ragged breaths, Roald brought her arm up so that he could see her wrist. The bracelet he had had specially made for her lay there, the yellow, orange and red stones fire against her milky skin.

'You're wearing this,' he muttered.

'Yes. Does it please you?'

Roald looked up into her eyes, his hands dropping from her. 'I don't know,' he whispered, turning away. His eyes were haunted; lost.'I don't know.'

He snatched the discarded shirt off the floor and the tunic from the bed and threw them into his clothes chest, shrugging off his boots at the same time. His tense, jerky movements hinted that he was cross, but Shinko couldn't decipher why. Only when he had finished changing and was curled beneath the sheets of the bed did she begin to get ready herself.

When she got in beside him, he was already fast asleep, his features appearing fraught even in his dreams.

---


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven.**

'Roald, can I talk with you?'

The Prince looked up in surprise. 'We talk everyday, Uncle Gary.'

Gareth closed the office door and came forward to sit in the spare chair. Roald eyed him wearily. 'I mean really talk, Roald.'

'Oh.'

'Yes, oh.' Gary sighed. 'Roald- is everything all right? I've been worrying about you; you spend your whole day in this little room, working.'

'Everyone has to do their part for the realm, Uncle Gary.'

'Yes, but you're doing more than one person's fair share.' Gary kept his voice gentle and quiet, not wanting to spark the Prince's temper. He knew Roald was generally a calm young man but he had noticed how that had changed recently.

'I'm the Prince,' replied Roald, shrugging. 'I'm expected to.'

'No! No you're not. I don't know where you got the idea that you should be better than all of us, Roald, but it's not true.' Roald scowled and his uncle sighed. 'Look, I'm sorry. I'm just worried about you. You're very pale of late; are you sure you are well?'

'I'm _fine_.'

'Roald, you'll do no-one any good if you're unwell. Just- calm down a bit; take a break.'

'Thank you, Uncle Gary, but like I said, I'm fine.'

Gary sighed and rose. 'Look, if you need someone to talk to, Roald- about _anything_- you can come to me. Understand?'

'Yes, sir.'

Shaking his head, Gary left the office just as Nelle was entering. Polite as ever, Gary held the door open for her before passing through.

Roald scowled when he saw the pretty little maid enter the room. He was annoyed at Gary's interference; no-one was supposed to question the Crown Prince about the bags under his eyes or the paleness of his cheeks.

Seeing Nelle reminded him painfully of last night. Shinko's kiss had been delicate and hot and he had wanted her, his dazed mind trying to catch up with his sudden passion. It had been natural to want her—until he felt the bracelet on her wrist. Then all memory flooded back to him.

This was _Shinko_- should he be doing this? He wasn't sure it was right of him. Oh yes, she was his wife, but he wasn't certain he wanted her in this way. He wouldn't take advantage of a woman, not even his own willing wife.

The problem was, he did not know what he wanted.

He closed his eyes against Nelle, but her image was scoured into his eyelids and he saw her still. He stood, roughly shoving the chair away, and Nelle looked up in surprise.

Stomping over, he grabbed her hands away from the tray rather more violently than he had intended. The tray clattered to the ground.

'Get out,' he ordered. Flinging her arms away as if they had burnt his palms, he turned his back to her.

Quivering, she stumbled towards the door. 'Y-Your H-Highness… please, f-forgive me… what d-did I-'

'Just go.' He kept his back to her, his eyes closed, until he heard the door shut gently. Ignoring the discarded food, he sunk into the chair by the fire, hiding his face in his hands.

--

He found her, eventually. She was with her friends- all young ladies of the Court, most just out of their Convents and from the best noble families- in one of the small indoor practice courts. They had converted what was normally an area for weapons and curses, into a congenial place of girls' talk and laughter.

At one end of the room the girls had set up nine wooden pins in a diamond formation and they gathered at the opposite end. Taking it in turns, they rolled a wooden ball along the floor to knock over as many pins as they could. Every time the pins clattered to the floor the noise was echoed by the giggles and claps of the watching ladies.

Roald watched from the doorway as his sister took the ball clumsily in her left hand and propped it against her hip until she had a better grasp. One of her friends offered to help, but Lianne shook her head, determined to do this on her own. When she was ready, she swung her arm and let the ball go. It hit the floor with a heavy _thwack_ and rolled with a slight curve.

The three pins on the end spiralled down to the floor. Lianne spun round to receive her applause and caught sight of Roald by the door.

'Roald!' she cried, beaming. She ran across to him, placing a hand on his arm; he smiled down at her, glad to see her happy. 'Come join in with us!' She dragged him over to the group of ladies quickly smoothing their skirts and hair and curtseying.

'Oh no, Lianne, I would not humiliate you so.'

'You could not humiliate me, Roald, particularly not with such a game as _this_!'

'And what makes you think I can play?'

She planted her free hand on her hip. 'If I can do it with one hand _you_ can do it with two!'

'No, Lianne. I would not interrupt your game.' His words were soft, and his small smile was still there. Lianne thought how long it had been since he had laughed and grinned; it was wonderful just to see the _hint_ of a smile on his face.

'Oh, don't be so silly, Roald.' She waved a hand at her companions. 'Play on. Come, walk with me.' Linking her free arm through his, she moved them away from the skittles. 'Did you want to talk with me?' she asked when they were sufficiently far from her friends.

'I would rather you enjoyed yourself with your friends.'

'I can enjoy myself with you, Roald, and I rather think it is up to me who I spend my time with.'

He raised his eyebrows. 'Is that so?'

'It is.' Unlinking her arm, she opened a side door that lead into a small room used for storing practice weapons and the padded gear worn while learning. 'Let's talk in here, away from everyone else.'

He had to smile. 'What an odd place to host a conversation, Annie.'

He was rewarded with a grin. There were no seats and the only stool was piled high with ripped, sweaty padded shirts. Without hesitation, the princess sat on the floor, pressing her back against the wall. She patted the floor beside her.

'What did you want to talk of, Roald?'

He viewed the dusty floor with discomfort. 'I… How is your arm?'

She fixed him with a look. 'Roald, you can't expect me to believe that you came all the way down here just to ask me that? Now, stop being a prude and sit next to me.'

'I am _not_ a prude, Anne.' He sat down. She nudged him.

'Well then?'

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. 'I don't know…'

'Bad day?' Lianne asked tenderly. He nodded. 'What happened?'

Roald shrugged. As he glanced around at the room, he was struck with a sudden memory.

He was eight years old, and Kally had just turned seven. They had snuck away from their watchful nurse and down into the practice courts. Hiding behind a bench they had gazed in awe at the third-year squires sparring.

'I'm going to be a better page than _you_,' Kalasin whispered.

Roald just rolled his eyes. 'Come on.' Scrambling to his feet he made his way along the back wall to the door. Kalasin followed, making as little noise as him; she had exchanged her satin skirts for the old pair of his breeches and shirt she kept for such occasions.

Roald opened the door and ushered her in. The squires never even noticed them, but Roald shut the door quietly, just in case.

Kalasin was staring at all the wooden weapons in amazement, her mouth agape. This was the first time Roald had brought her here.

'Wow,' she breathed.

Grinning, he pulled a wooden sword out of the nearest bucket and waved it in front of him. Not to be outdone, Kally ran for her own weapon. Unfortunately, the sword she pulled out was longer than she was tall and its point drooped to the floor as she tried to hold it.

Roald giggled and scowling, Kally discarded the sword and went for another. This time she was more successful and she pointed the weapon at her brother, grinning. Just like all the times they had duelled with sticks they had picked up from the gardens, Roald knocked her sword with his own. Giggling, she swiped back and they were off.

There were no intricate movements or delicately-placed footwork; it was the simple hack slash and bang of a child's game. Roald had long ago lost count of the number of times they had played this game together.

They moved as much as they could in the small room, but they were used to small sticks that broke easily and big spaces. Roald moved too far back and went straight into a barrel. It wobbled- and fell, spewing its contents onto the floor noisily.

Roald's attention was grasped by the mess he'd made, so he didn't see Kally's sword come swinging down onto his hand.

'Ow!' he cried, dropping his own sword. 'Kally!'

She giggled. 'Sorry, Ro.' When he continued to rub his hand, she frowned. 'Are you okay?'

'No! It _hurts_.'

She looked horrified. 'I'm sorry!' Her bottom lip trembled. 'I didn't mean to hurt you!'

'Don't cry, Kal. I'll be fine in a moment.' But he wasn't and she pulled him down to the floor, his back resting against the wall, their swords laying next to them. She took his hand in both of hers, trying to ignore his heavy breathing.

'It's broken, Roald! Oh, Roald, I'm so sorry!' There was a nice dark bruise beginning to spread across the back of his hand.

'Which bone, Kally?'

'This one.' She traced a finger along the bone that connected his first finger to his wrist.

'Can you fix it?'

She stared at him, wide-eyed. 'Roald… I… I've not healed bones yet.'

He sighed and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. 'Okay, then. I'll have to think of something to bribe Duke Baird with again.'

'Well…' said Kally. 'I have learnt the theory of mending bones.'

Roald opened one eye and fixed her with it. 'Kal, I don't want you doing anything you're not ready for yet.'

She smiled and took his hand in her own again. She closed her eyes and Roald felt the blue coolness of her Gift touch him. He gritted his teeth against the pain as the bones slowly realigned and knitted themselves together.

When she had finished, she was shaking but smiling. He flung an arm around her shoulders and she settled back against the wall beside him. She picked up her sword and ran curious fingers along its length.

That's how they were when Aunt Buri found them. She marched them straight back to their worried nurse, and Kalasin got into extra trouble for discarding her beautiful dress in place of her brother's dirty old hand-me-downs. But she hadn't minded.

Later that evening she had given her brother a big hug, taking him by surprise. 'Thanks,' she whispered. 'That was the best birthday present ever- even if it _was_ a little late.'

Now Roald was sitting in the very same store room, years later, with his other sister. He tried to imagine sparring with Lianne, and couldn't. He ran a finger across the back of his hand: there was a bump there where Kally hadn't healed the break quite perfectly.

'Roald?'

He blinked at Lianne.

'Are you okay? You seemed to daze out for a bit, there.'

He shook his head to rid himself of the memories and picked up a wood shaving from the floor, toying with it. 'Yes, I'm fine. What were we talking about?'

'You were about to tell me about your bad day.'

_Was he really?_ He opened his mouth to reply- and the door swung open to the sound of laughing. They jumped and looked up.

'_Liam_!' cried Lianne, springing from the floor and launching herself at her brother. Liam was just a year older than her, but he towered over her- and his friends behind him.

'Annie!' Liam's shocked look turned into a smile to see his sister- but it quickly deteriorated into a frown. 'My little goose, what's happened to you?'

Roald stood, annoyed at himself for feeling slightly embarrassed to be caught on the floor of a storage room at his age, and brushed the dust from his fine breeches as Liam gave Annie a very careful hug.

'Oh, nothing,' she rejoined, flapping her free hand. 'I tumbled down the stairs.'

Liam fixed her with a stern look. 'Little goose, you must be more careful.'

She rolled her eyes and laid her hand on his arm, leaning into him. 'You've grown!'

'My dear little goose, I've been out in the world now-' he thumped his chest with his fist- 'of course I've grown!' Roald rolled his eyes and pressed a hand to the ache in the hollow of his back. He felt middle-aged compared to his energetic brother.

'Liam, you're ridiculous,' their sister teased. 'I never understood where you got your wild nature from.'

'_Someone's_ got to be light-hearted in this family.'

'How come you're home, Liam?'

'Oh, don't sound so pleased to see me, brother dear.'

Lianne realised with fondness that Liam was taller than Roald, and somewhat more _solid_ too. The younger brother wore a moustache, and his black hair long and unkempt. He was the only one of the Conté children to have inherited their mother's hazel eyes.

'I'm home for Midwinter.'

'You're late getting through.'

'I know, the passes were devilish.'

'How have they let you home, Liam?' asked Lianne, frowning a little. 'Are you taking your ordeal early?'

'No, little goose. My lord is home on leave; he shattered his shoulder blade.'

'Oh no!' Her little hand went to her mouth. 'Will he be okay?'

He squeezed her shoulder. 'Of course, the healers patched him up good and proper. He just needs a little rest, that's all.'

'What's war like, Liam?' asked Lianne, a little breathlessly. 'Roald won't tell me about it.'

'Well perhaps he's right there, much as it pains me to agree with him. War stories aren't very nice for little girls.'

She scowled. 'I'm _not_ a little girl anymore, Liam. I'm _sixteen_.'

'I do apologise. War stories aren't for young ladies either, however pretty they are.' He winked at her and she felt slightly appeased.

Roald touched a hand to Lianne's arm, ignoring his brother's remark. 'Thank you, Lianne,' he said quietly, referring to earlier. 'Liam,' he added with a nod to the squire, and Roald left. As he shut the door he heard Liam remark, 'Well _he's_ just as stiff as ever!'

'Liam!' scolded the Princess. Roald had never got on as well with his brothers as his sisters, so he was not bothered by Liam's words. He did hope however that Liam continued to refuse to tell Lianne about the war. All that blood and death… He shivered. It was not something he would want either of his sisters to experience.

Roald began to make his way back to his office. He wondered what he would have said if Liam hadn't arrived when he did. He doubted he would have told Lianne what was troubling him; he had just needed to get away and be in pleasant company for a while. In truth, he wanted Kalasin's company, but he couldn't have that.

A page rushed up to him, bowing. 'Your Highness!'

'Yes?'

'The King wants you.'

'Where?'

'In the study.'

Roald pressed a coin into the page's palm and changed his direction, his footsteps falling faster now. It didn't take him long to reach his father's room and he knocked before entering.

He was surprised to find no-one there. He went to the desk, but there was no note for him either. He was about to go when an adjoining door opened and Gary stuck his head in.

'Ah, Roald, there you are. Come on in.'

Roald went into the next room. Jon's "meeting room" was an extension of his study, for when he wanted to informally talk to many people; there was a long, wide oak table surrounded by chairs.

Roald entered and was surprised to find so many people present. He welcomed them as he came in: Sir Myles, Lady Cythera, his parents, a representative of the Own and another of the palace guard, and a number of mages and scholars in charge of decorating and organising social functions. It was a jolt when he saw Shinko, too.

Roald's cheeks burned crimson, as realisation hit him.

'There you are, Roald,' smiled his father. 'Did you forget? Never mind, take a seat.'

Roald mumbled an apology and slipped into his seat opposite his wife. How could he forget the meeting finalising the Midwinter festivities?

--

Shinko looked across the wide table at Roald. He was frowning intently, listening avidly to what his father had to say. For once, Shinko found she could not concentrate on the King's words.

Her heart ached to see her husband. They were so distant, and it was their greatest secret. He had become a stranger to her.

For her, there was nothing else in the room but him and the wide table separating them. She no longer heard Jon's voice and Sir Myles's answering questions; she didn't even register the rustle of fabric as Gareth of Naxen shifted in his seat at her side. All her senses focused on him. She could even almost smell him.

He wasn't so much as looking at her. All his attention was on his father- his _duty_- as always. He was out of his depth, as usual, but how had he forgotten the meeting? That was so utterly unlike him.

Oh, she craved to hold him. What had happened to their sweet romancing of years gone by? What had happened to his beauty? -It was being consummed by his desperate work.

Once, years ago, when he had left on a mission with a touch of danger and she had wished him well, they had found themselves overwhelmed by strong emotions.

'Come back to me safe,' she had pleaded. Their bodies were pressed close and their words were whispers; the thin canvas of their tent offered them poor shelter.

He had stroked her soft cheek with the back of his hand, his eyes following his fingers, and he moved to twirl a loose strand of hair around one finger. Keeping his eyes on his hand, he murmured, 'What would you do if I didn't come home?'

Her words were so choked that he nearly didn't make them out, but he knew what she felt without hearing her speak it. 'I would die of grieving if you left me.'

He had returned safe to her from that battle, and many battles more.

Now, across the table, he was fading from her. She knew then that he was leaving her. This was one battle- whatever daemon he was fighting- that he was losing.

Just as she had promised, she would die of grief for him. She loved him.

'Shinko?'

Gary's words brought her back to reality with a painful jolt and she realised she had stood, shoving her chair away from the table violently. Her eyes darted around the room to see everyone watching her. Their faces began to blur before her, but she was not crying. She was dizzy with despair.

She glanced at him. He was looking at her, puzzled, a small crease between his brows, his chin resting on his fingers. He was old before his age; he was out of his depth.

She barely managed a strangled "excuse me" before she fled.

Roald never came after her.

---


	12. Interlude 1

**Interlude One.**

'He's not right, you know.'

Cythera looked across at her husband as he shrugged out of his breeches. 'Who? Jon?'

'No, no. Roald.'

Cythera frowned, pulling the bed covers tighter around her. She closed her book. 'Whatever makes you say that? I admit he is looking a little tired but I'm sure it's nothing to worry about.'

In his nightclothes now, Gary picked up a brush from the vanity and climbed into bed. Seeing the brush, Cythera smiled and turned her back to him. He began to comb and play with her hair as he talked.

'He's more than a "little tired". He's pale and getting thinner. I don't think he's eating properly and he spends far too much time sitting at that desk working.'

'Well tell him to go do something else then.'

'Don't you think I've tried that already?' He sighed. 'He won't listen to me. He's constantly cutting me off when I try to speak with him. He's getting quite a harsh tongue, actually.'

'Roald?' Cythera looked round in surprise. 'I thought he had a calm temper.'

Gary grimaced. 'He always has. Obviously he's been spending too much time with his Aunt Alanna.'

Cythera rolled her eyes. 'So what do you plan to do?'

He sighed. 'I don't know. I fear he's becoming rather- _delicate_. I don't want to… push him over the edge, as it were.'

Cythera pursed her lips. 'I could mention it to Thayet, I suppose.'

Considering this, Gary said, 'Only subtly, though. I don't want Thayet getting stressed about this.'

'Gary, if her son is ill, she's going to stress about it, however she finds out.' He fixed her with a stern look and she smiled, rolling her eyes again. 'Of _course_ I'll be subtle, I _do_ deal with the Queen's affairs.'

'And you do a very good job.' He lifted her hair away from her neck and pressed a kiss to her skin.

'Try not to worry too much about Roald, dear. After all, he's not _your_ son.'

Gary sighed again. 'I know that, but Jon and Thayet are too preoccupied to spend any quality time with their children and notice something's wrong.'

Cythera turned in his arms to face him. 'Roald will be fine. I'll mention it- _subtly_- to Thayet at the next opportune moment.'

He pressed a kiss to her lips. 'Thank you.'

She smiled a little coyly. 'Are you going to thank me probably? You've been so tired recently.'

He raised his eyebrows. 'Is my dear wife dissatisfied?'

She laughed. 'Never!'

Grinning, Gary pulled her down to the bed, discarding the hairbrush.

---


End file.
